


Warded Heart - Part 3 - What we've lost

by withah



Series: Warded Heart [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Magic, Drama & Romance, Drug Addiction, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Motherhood, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Postpartum Depression, Romance, Warden at Skyhold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-05-19 10:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 144,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14871819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withah/pseuds/withah
Summary: Ferelden’s mages are flocking to Skyhold as the Chantry debates the future of the Circles, but they are more vulnerable than they realise. Someone has stolen their phylacteries. And the key suspect has feathered pauldrons, a penchant for cats, and an incredibly powerful spirit on board.It’s up to Cullen to find Anders and return the phylacteries before anyone important knows they’re gone. After the harrowing year he’s had, he may not be up to the task. Heartbroken and exhausted, he’s fallen into old habits his wife can know nothing of.Meanwhile Solana grapples with her past deeds, Hawke struggles to get over the man he gave up everything for, Cassandra is forced to choose between love and duty, and Celeste has to confront the past in order to embrace her future.Is 'happily ever after' possible for people who have seen as much as they have?





	1. Gone

* * *

There were so many people packed inside The Herald's Rest that Hawke couldn't even hear the bard. Not that he minded. She'd been trying out some new material about the Inquisitor and it wasn't quite there yet.

Wasn't quite  _in tune_  yet.

He pushed another silver piece across the table. "Keep 'em comin."

The barkeep probably didn't hear him, but he knew the drill by now. He sloshed more ale into Hawke's mug without so much as looking at him.

Hawke took a long drink. Perhaps this one would bring oblivion. Or at the very least the kind of blackout where he woke in a stranger's bed with no clothes on and a shoe missing.

He was on his fourth or fifth gulp, chin pointed at the ceiling, foam running down his face, when someone jostled him and the rest of the drink ended up down his front.

"Oh for the love of–"

He slammed the mug down. He'd need to find somewhere else to drink. Now Corypheus was dead, it was like people had nothing to do at Skyhold besides fill up the tavern. Perhaps the Inquisitor would allow him to open a competing establishment. Perhaps then he could lure Varric back…

"Evening."

The man who'd slid in next to him was awfully polite for one of the Herald's Rest's patrons. Hawke was opening his mouth to give an automatic reply when it registered who it was.

"Cullen?"

The Commander scratched the back of his neck self-consciously and gave a small nervous laugh. He wasn't wearing his armour. It was the first time Hawke could remember seeing him without it. Even when they'd travelled together, he'd never emerged from a tent or inn room without it. He looked much… smaller.

Hawke blinked slowly to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Cullen was supposed to be in South Reach.

The blond man leaned across the bar and tried to flag down the barkeep. "Uh, excuse me, sorry?"

No, definitely Cullen.

Hawke stood and waved his mug. "Oy! Another one of these." When the barkeep took his mug, he yelled, "And one for my friend here."

 _Heh. Friend_. Now if that wasn't a more unexpected development than the Commander's arrival.

Cullen didn't seem to notice the slip. He sank back onto his stool and thanked Hawke, eyes darting around the room. He said something that Hawke didn't catch above the din.

"What?" Hawke yelled.

"I said, if this isn't the Herald's Rest. I mean, I know it is. I have been here before. With the advi-" he fell silent as his drink was placed in front of him. He reached into his pocket and started feeling for coin.

Hawke sighed and flicked another few copper across the counter.

"I've got it."

"Oh, I, thank you."

They drank in blissful silence for a time. But then, of course, Cullen had to say, "I, uh, I heard about Anders. I'm sorry."

Hawke snorted.  _Great_ , exactly what he wanted to discuss.

"I really am. Sorry, I mean. Look, is there somewhere else we can talk perhaps?"

Somewhere else? He'd assumed the man was here to drink like everyone else. It hadn't occurred to him that he'd sought Hawke out intentionally.

"What about?"

"Sorry?

"What do you want to talk about? Because if it's about Anders, you can shove it."

Maker, the name still cut into him to the quick, as if he'd left yesterday and not almost a month ago. Hawke took another glug of alcohol. Cullen fell silent.

When Hawke came up for air, Cullen had his hands wrapped around his drink and he was staring off into the distance as if his heart had just been shattered.

Well, it had, hadn't it?

Hawke rose and tilted his head towards the stairs. "Come on."

Cullen looked at him, mouth forming an "o" of surprise, eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement. Hawke jerked his chin again and the Commander seemed to catch his meaning, rising to follow.

Up on the top level of the tavern, the noise of the crowd sounded more like the gentle roar of the ocean. Cole didn't seem to be about, but even if he was and Hawke had forgotten him, they still had more privacy than at the bar. Hawke settled on the top step and patted the spot beside him.

Cullen looked doubtful. But, after merely a moment's hesitation, he sat too.

"So, Commander, here's the rules. Every time you say his name, I say hers. Alright? So it's up to you. We can talk, or we can sit here in silence."

Cullen chuckled and tipped his mug in Hawke's direction. "Agreed."

He took a long drink. Hawke waited.

Eventually, Cullen lowered his mug and stared into it. "I think it's my fault."

"Which are we talking about?"  _Anders or Solana?_

"Probably both," Cullen said, without expression. "But I mean Anders." His eyes darted to Hawke as if wary that he'd follow through with his threat.

"Oh, because you revealed his deep, dark, secret?" The words came out sounding more sarcastic than he'd meant. He could hardly close his eyes without seeing that room, with the vials of blood along the walls, without hearing Samson's agonised screams. It twisted his stomach. Yes, he'd been angry but… "I didn't throw him out if that's what you think. He chose to leave of his own accord."

"Yes, I… Solana mentioned."

"Ah, so you've seen her then?"

"Of course I have. She's my wife, is she not?"

"You tell me."

Cullen's gaze dropped to his drink and Hawke regretted his words. Touchy subject, clearly.

"Look, Cullen, you have enough to concern yourself with without taking the blame for my relationship falling apart. It's been on its last legs for… well, years, if I'm to be honest. Besides, if you had not taken me to that room I may well never have discovered his true reason for joining me here. He… he promised me that I was the…  _urgh_ , it doesn't matter."

"No. I… I don't mean the experiments. To be honest, I didn't even know you were unaware. There was something else..." He trailed off.

"Something else?" Hawke prompted.

"When we were trying to get to… I asked him… I insisted… that he…" Cullen drew a deep breath. "We needed to get through the eluvian. If we hadn't, I hate to think what would have happened. We didn't know the key. Cole said that Justice could open it. But he'd need complete control."

Hawke lowered his mug. His heart was starting to race. "I see."

"We had to get to Alise. I… I was not in my right mind. I begged him to give over that control. He did so against his better judgement."

Anger flared from deep in Hawke's belly. He clenched his jaw.

"It was the only option. But I accept responsibility."

Hawke stood abruptly. He needed to go, be anywhere but there. Get away before he did something he'd regret. Already, he could feel his control slipping. Alcohol and these kinds of admissions? Not a good combination.

But Cullen was at once on his feet too. "Wait, please, there's more."

"No." The word was hard and cold and sharp. "No, I don't want to hear  _more_."

"Hawke…"

"Do you have any idea how hard he fought, how long he struggled, to prevent that very thing from happening? He's been losing control for years.  _Years,_ Cullen. I thought I lost him in Kinloch. When Justice took over, I thought he was through. But even then he was still fighting, still holding on, making sure that a part of him remained at all times. And you," he jabbed a finger at Cullen. "You ruined it." His voice cracked. "How could you do this? You saw what he did to that chantry! You know what he's capable of! And then you ran away and now, over a  _month_ later, come back with your tail between your legs and tell me? Who knows what he's done since?"

Cullen held out his hands. "Please, remain calm."

"Remain calm? He could be on the other side of Thedas by now! What more do I possibly need to hear? What more do you thi-"

"Phylacteries," Cullen said.

"What?" Hawke's voice was broken even to his own ears.

Cullen's hands curled into tight fists. "Ferelden's phylacteries were stored here, for a time. Very few knew about them. I believe he might have. And I believe he might have taken them."

The mug slipped from Hawke's fingers, clanging onto the ground and bouncing halfway down the stairs.

"Do you have any idea where he might have gone?" Cullen's voice seemed to come from a very far way away.

The phylacteries. Once they had spoken about them, cuddled up below the decks of one of the many ships they had sought passage on in their years of running together. They had fantasised about destroying them, setting all the mages free.

But that was another Anders, one who would never go near blood magic.

What would this Anders do? What would Justice do?

"Hawke?" Cullen pushed for an answer.

He shook his head. "None at all."

He reached into his pocket and withdrew the note, passing it to Cullen. It was ragged around the edges and crumpled from being folded and unfolded so many times. On it, in Anders's elegant hand, two words: _I'm sorry._

* * *

Cullen pushed his food around his plate. Solana had set a table up in their room so that they could dine together rather than down in the great hall. She'd risen early and picked up some fresh rolls and eggs from the kitchens. She'd even brewed some tea. It was weak and bitter, but Cullen drank it dutifully. She was trying. Trying to make everything better. Trying to make up for what she'd done with token domesticity.

"Love?"

He looked up, suddenly aware that she'd been speaking and whatever she'd said required an answer.

"Sorry, what was that?"

He watched her features for signs of annoyance, but there were none. She'd arranged them into unflappable brightness. "I was just saying that perhaps we should ask for leave to extend our quarters. If we built on further across the ramparts, Alise could have her own room."

Alise was asleep in her bassinet on Solana's side of the bed. She'd woken several times during the past two nights, no longer with tiny grunts of discomfort, but with howling agony as if in pain. Eventually, Cullen had queried whether this was normal. It was, Solana had assured him. This was how babies were  _supposed_  to be.

"That sounds like a good idea," he said.

His mind was still on Anders. He was considering whether to tell the Inquisitor. He'd written to Varric and sent the letter personally so as to not alert Leliana. Perhaps Varric knew where Anders was, or could find out, before there was need to cause widespread panic.

"I was hoping you'd speak to the Inquisitor," Solana said.

Cullen jerked. She didn't seem to notice, she was pouring herself a cup of tea. "The Inquisitor?"

Her eyes rose to meet his. "About the room?"

"Oh, yes."

Was it possible that Solana was in on it? No, surely not. Although, how else could Anders have learned the location of the phylacteries? She _had_  wanted to break them.

 _Solana's power has saved her life more times than I can count, but it's corrupted her as much as the taint did._ Leliana's words echoed in his mind.

"Will you?" Solana asked.

He reached for a bread roll. "You should ask him yourself." Weren't they friends?

"I could I suppose, but I thought it would have more weight coming from you. You hold actual rank in the Inquisition, after all, and as one of his advisers…"

"You're the Hero of Ferelden, I'm certain they'd give you the entire guest suite if you asked."

She started at his use of her title, but he hadn't meant it sarcastically. Her eyes dropped down to her plate and with that, her facade dropped too. "Please don't call me that."

"I thought you'd grown accustomed to it?" She'd taken to using it herself.

"I… we both know it's not true." She rubbed her arms as if cold. "I'm no hero."

"Say what you will about what you've done, but I think we call can agree that if you are one thing it's a hero."

The words left his mouth without much thought but her gaze immediately locked with his. She was taking too much meaning from it.

"You cured our daughter of Tranquility and the Blight," he reminded her.

The intensity of her look was too much. He stood, picking up his surcoat. "I have duties to attend to. I should be home shortly after dark."

"All right, I'll have a meal ready. On the table."

"That's not necessary, Solana."

"I know it's not. I just… I'd like to."

He drew a deep breath and went around the table, leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek. She tensed at his touch and when he drew away, her eyes were still closed as if she was trying to preserve the moment.

His stomach clenched. Maker, this was more difficult than he'd ever imagined it to be.

In his office, clarity awaited. He'd feel better soon.

* * *

The gaol was still cold in the mornings, even with the onset of spring. Celeste's breath puffed in front of her face as she entered the back cells.

"Good morning, Ser Samson."

He was sitting scrunched up, with his knees tight against his chest. She lowered herself to the floor before his cell.

"Mage," he said, from beneath his arms.

A chill rushed through her and instantly she felt like she was kneeling before a different Templar. She swallowed down her revulsion. "Please don't call me that."

He lifted his head just enough to peer at her. His eyes were less red than they'd been even a week before, but in the shadows beneath his brow it was impossible to tell their colour. Again, Celeste questioned her wisdom in coming here.

"How does  _Maleficar_  work for you?" The way he said the word, she could hear every minute he'd spent as a Templar.

She turned her attention to her basket. The rolls were still warm to the touch as she unfolded them from a handkerchief. "Celeste is my name."

"I've been trying to place you,  _Celeste_. You weren't one of the Kirkwall ones, were you? I would have remembered you. Although, what with the lyrium, who knows." He chuckled darkly.

"I wasn't."

"A blood mage in the Inquisition ranks." He whistled through his teeth. "Does Cullen know?"

"He does."

"Ha! Now that,  _that_ I find surprising. What did you do to buy his silence, sleep with him?"

Celeste reached through the bars and held the roll out to him.

Samson ignored it. "No, Rutherford's not the type. You have dirt on him, don't you?"

"No."

Samson fell silent, continuing to stare at her. A line formed between his eyebrows as she tried not to squirm under the intensity of his gaze.

"Why are you doing this?" His voice was suddenly soft and serious.

"I told you."

"You're feeding me bread because your friend fed you bread a year ago? Forgive my failure to follow that fine logic."

Celeste's arm was growing tired, so she pushed the handkerchief through and laid the bread roll on top of it on the floor between them. "I was there when the Inquisitor sentenced you. He said you're to serve the Inquisition."

"Yeah. Providing samples of blood and tissue for your arcanist and information for your interrogators. No one happened to mention bread rolls."

"You said there was nothing worthy left in you."

"Did I?"

This was pointless. However she formed the words in her head they sounded stupid or impossibly naive. She had half a mind to get up and leave, forget this entire endeavour.

He must have sensed her mood, because he reached forward and took the roll. He stared at it as if he had never seen its like. "There isn't, you know? A second chance is not enough to undo what I did. Second, third, fiftieth. I could become a fucking chanter and still never make up a fraction of…"

"Andraste's holy tears, will you stop wallowing?"

His eyes snapped up to hers.  _Brown._

She fumbled for the next words. "Moaning about it won't change anything. You made a decision to do what you did, yes. But you also decided to take the lyrium I gave you, even though you knew it would extend your suffering, even though you knew what Fiona would do to you, and you feared the Inquisitor's vengeance. You chose to live. You chose to try-"

He snorted. "That was the cravings. They'll make you do _anything_."

"No it wasn't."

"I say it was."

"I don't believe you."

Samson's mouth twisted upwards in an almost-smile, showing his uneven teeth. "Well believe me,  _Mage_."

 _Maker._  She closed her eyes. "Don't." But she'd given him a weapon against her now.  _Stupid_. She spoke before he could use it again. "I've seen you, Samson, in the late hours of the night, in the earliest hours of the morn. I've seen you twisting and thrashing against your guilt. I know your burden. Maybe not… not all of it. But I have been where you are now, wrapped up in regret, poisoned from the inside by past deeds, paralysed by my own self _-hate_. I  _know_ you, Raleigh Samson. I… I know you see me as some foolish girl who… dabbled in darkness or, or was misled a long time ago. And perhaps I am foolish. Perhaps I shouldn't be here trying to reach you. Perhaps there is no saving you from your past and from your own self-pity. But I… I've seen goodness in you. And I don't have it in me to leave you to rot. Solana didn't leave me. I won't leave you. I… just eat the bread."

When she opened her eyes again, he was still staring at her, but there was something different about the look. His eyes were wide and he said nothing. Quietly, he bit into the roll.

* * *

Cullen paused outside Trevelyan's door, running through exactly how he'd break the news about the phylacteries. The lyrium had been just the boost he'd needed to bring his mind to clarity. He had taken the men through their morning drills, inspected the barracks and caught up on many of the reports on what had transpired in the time he'd been away.

Skyhold was an almost entirely different place now. More mages, fewer soldiers, and the Grey Wardens had almost completely trickled away to do whatever they did when not at war. Many of the Inquisitor's companions had also left and, walking through the quiet halls, Cullen found he recognised few faces.

He drew a deep breath. The lyrium had also helped him make up his mind about  _this._  He had to tell Trevelyan. It was the right thing to do, even if it did make him look incompetent. Even if it did cast doubt on Solana.

What was the alternative? Wait weeks to hear back from Varric and hope the dwarf's letter said, "Hi Curly, don't worry, I know exactly where Anders is. I have the phylacteries. I'm sending them back to you. Please find them attached?"

That wouldn't happen, and the longer Cullen kept his own failure silent, the further away Anders would get.

He squared his shoulders, took another long, deep breath, and held his fist above the door ready to knock.

"Don't be like this!" Trevelyan's voice from within, followed by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Max, I have a duty." Cassandra said.

Cullen paused. He had no desire to eavesdrop.

"To the Void with your duty! You have given them enough." A second set of footsteps echoed down towards the door.

"You only say that because you want me to remain here." It sounded like she was standing right beside the door. Would she hear Cullen if he left?

"That's not true. What about the Seekers?" Now the Inquisitor was also by the door. Cullen didn't know what to do.

"What about them?" Cassandra shot back at Trevelyan.

"You were going to rebuild them."

"And now I will be in a unique position to do so."

"Don't." Trevelyan's voice was soft, but he was standing close enough that Cullen could still hear every word. "Please."

There was a long pause and Cullen dared not even breathe. Should he stay? Should he leave?

He was still trying to decide, when Cassandra spoke again. "You know how I feel about you, but please don't make me choose."

"I would never ask that of you," his voice was still low. "Besides, I know that I would lose. I've known it from the start, Cassandra. You came into my arms with the caveat that what we had was temporary, an escape from your grief. I'm not Regalyan. I could never replace him."

"Why would you say such a thing?"

"Because it's true and I accept it. I'm not asking you to decline to keep you here. I'm asking you because I care about you. Dammit, I love you. And being Divine will not make you happy. You need to be somewhere where you can brandish a sword. Even if it's not at my side. If you wish to leave the Inquisition, then by all means leave. Go and rebuild your Seekers. But don't leave because Orlais wishes for you to be their latest pawn. Please."

"Max…"

Cullen's neck heated.  _Cassandra, the next Divine?_ She hadn't said anything to him when she'd debriefed him the day before. There had been a stiffness about her, but he'd put it down to a reaction to his presence. When he'd run from the Wilds, she'd accused him of abandoning his men. It was expected that she have even stronger feelings about the way he'd fled Skyhold. But perhaps he hadn't been the reason after all.

Cassandra spoke again, "I need to do this. It's me or that ambitious viper."

Cullen had been under the impression that Leliana was also up for Divine, but he couldn't imagine Cassandra speaking of her in such a way. She must have meant the mage, Madame de Fer, the Lady of Iron. His reports said that she'd been campaigning hard for the return of the Circles. From what he understood, she was the main reason Fiona had returned to Val Royeaux. If de Fer came to power, it would mean… he shut his eyes before he spiraled too far into  _what ifs_. Solana may not have been a Grey Warden anymore, but she was still the Hero of Ferelden. They wouldn't throw her back into a Circle, would they?

"It's not fair," Trevelyan said on the other side of the door, sounding for the first time in Cullen's memory like the petulant lord he'd expected when they'd first met.

"Since when has life been fair, to either of us?"

"It led me to you."

Cassandra tsked. There was a pause before she said, "Max, this is what the Maker wills."

"But you don't want it."

"I keep telling you, what I  _want_  is not important."

"It is to me. Tell me you want this, and I will-"

"I  _want_  this."

"Really?" He sighed. "Very well."

Cullen heard Max's boots on the stairs again and only had an instant to prepare himself before the door opened. Cassandra jumped when she saw him there, still frozen as if about to knock.

He cleared his throat. "Good morning, I eh… I just got here."

"Is that Cullen?" Trevelyan's voice came from inside.

"Yes," Cassandra said. Her eyes narrowed and Cullen's stomach jerked. He didn't want her to guess how much he'd heard.

"I… if this is a bad time?"

"No, it's not a bad time," Cassandra said. "I was leaving."

At the top of the stairs, Cullen found Trevelyan pouring himself a drink. His hair was ruffled as if he'd recently risen, although the bed was made and he was dressed for the day ahead.

"Cullen, welcome back. I'm sorry I haven't come to see you yet. Paperwork, you know how it is." He glanced up and forced a smile. "How is the family?"

"They are… well."

Silence fell as Trevelyan downed the contents of his glass.

"I… uh. I wished to thank you for granting me leave at such short notice."

Trevelyan waved away the statement. "Please. I'm only glad you returned. Things weren't the same without you here."

"Cassandra is a capable…" Cullen trailed off, realising his error in mentioning her.

Trevelyan offered another smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "She is, isn't she? Capable." He forced a laugh. "But I'm sure you didn't come here to speak about Cassandra's merits, varied as they may be. What can I do for you?"

Cullen's mouth moved but no sound came out. He couldn't speak of the phylacteries now, not when he'd just witnessed what he had. "It… it's not important."

"Come now, you're here. I have a few minutes. Out with it."

His stomach formed an anxious knot.  _Just say it._   _The sooner you say it, the sooner the resources of the Inquisition can be put to use on this._ The sooner blame can be laid, the sooner respect can be lost, the sooner the broken-hearted Trevelyan can be squashed under an additional burden.

"It's, uh, Solana wished to know if we might extend our quarters."

Cullen's heart pounded traitorously, each beat a reminder of his cowardice and pride. Each thud urging him to give an addendum, but he remained silent.

"Extend your quarters?" Trevelyan frowned at the unexpected question. "Oh, you mean along the battlements? Well that's a fine idea. I don't see why not. Your little one will need more space as she grows older. Speak to Berinole, I know he was doodling up some plans for general expansions, but I'm afraid I have not been able to look into them yet."

"Thank you, I shall."

"And feel free to requisition whatever you need. You're one of my most trusted advisers, I would see you comfortable."

"That's very kind."

How much of the offer was kindness, and how much was Trevelyan trying to ensure Cullen didn't leave again? Regardless, the news would certainly please Solana.

"Was that all?"

Guilt pulled at Cullen's gut.  _Say it._

"Yes, Inquisitor. Thank you."

Perhaps Varric would have some good news after all.

Or else Maker help them all.


	2. This divide

_Dearest Isabela,_

_You owe me._

_And this letter better find you, because I spent fair coin..._

_Point is,  Anders is gone. Took something important._

_I know we had our differences, but I also know you can find him. I need to know where he is._

_Did I mention that you owe me?_

_Hawke._

 

* * *

 

_Dearest Hawke,_

_It’s Admiral Isabela now. _

_Signed,_

_Admiral Isabela._

 

 

* * *

  
  
Dearest  _Admiral_ Isabela,

 

_Need I remind you that I fought (and killed) a qunari arishok after you ran away with his precious book? I could have died. Very nearly did._

_I helped you find that Maker-forsaken book._

_Help me find Anders._

 

_Please._

 

_Hawke.  
_

 

* * *

  


_Dearest Hawke,_

 

_Fine._

 

_Admirable Isabela._

 

* * *

  


“Does the Commander even eat breakfast?” Celeste asked, glancing at Solana only briefly as she opened the oven door.

Around them, the kitchen hummed with activity as the staff prepared for the day ahead. Solana tried to stay out of the way, pressing herself into the corner by the ovens. Every so often, someone would push past and click their tongue at her.

“He’s eaten it every day for the past two weeks.”

“And he’s enjoyed it?” Celeste pricked one of the rolls and then closed the oven door again. When she turned back to Solana, her cheeks were rosy from the heat.

Solana wrung her hands, fiddled with her wedding rings. “I don’t know what to do. I just want to make everything better.”

“And you think forcing breakfast upon the poor man will make him instantly forgive you?”

“No.” Solana focused on the oven. Celeste was one of the few people who knew the truth and hadn’t turned from her. Even so, Celeste hadn’t entirely forgiven her either. “It’s not… I don’t expect him to forgive me. I just want to be the kind of wife he deserves. I don’t want him to regret coming back.”

“Solana, Cullen knew what he was agreeing to when he married you. You’re a Circle mage.”

“He’s been staying with his family. You didn’t see what they were like, Celeste.” The warm kitchen, Mia’s hugs, Maralie’s assurances. “That’s what he grew up with. That’s what I should be.”

Celeste opened the oven again and peered inside, but said nothing.

“Besides, I think it will be good for us. We didn’t really talk before, when he was leading the fight against Corypheus. We hardly saw each other. If we’re sitting down to meals twice a day maybe things will be different.”

“Step back.”

Solana moved out of the way as Celeste guided the tray out of the oven with magic - probably the very spell Solana had taught her for lifting water. Now Celeste did it with ease, setting the tray carefully down on the stone countertop.

“All I’m saying is don’t try _too_ hard,” she said.

“You think it’s wasted effort?”

Celeste let out a breath and shook her head. “No. I mean… when I first returned to Denerim during the Blight, I didn’t tell my family what happened. I couldn’t. I was a mess. My sister realised it must have been something terrible. I think she guessed the gist of it. Anyway, she’d do what you’re doing now. She’d flap around me, making me food I didn’t want to eat, asking me questions, not taking her eyes off me. I know she was worried, and in retrospect it was really sweet of her. But it created this sense of… expectation. It made me _less_ comfortable. Cullen’s back, he's been back for weeks now. He’s made his decision. Just… let him get over things at his own pace.”

He _had_ seemed distant, but that was to be expected wasn’t it? It was so hard to tell whether he was annoyed or if it was just… a remnant. “Are the rolls ready? I should get back. I left Alise with him.”

Celeste smirked.

“What?”

“Nothing. Let me know how that goes.” She waved a hand and two rolls lifted off the tray and into Solana’s basket. Solana was opening her mouth to respond, when Celeste waved her hand again and an additional two rolls lifted off the tray. They hovered through the air, dipping and disappearing under one of the tables.

“And that?” Solana asked, eyebrows raised.

Celeste shrugged nonchalantly. “For later.”

Were her cheeks still coloured from the oven or was she blushing?

 

***

 

Solana heard the screaming from the bailey. She broke into a sprint, bursting through the door to find Cullen holding Alise at arm’s length. Her face was red, her head was thrown back and she kept bringing her limbs into her centre and then flinging them out again in anger. Cullen was staring at her, pale and bewildered.

“I didn’t do anything,” he said.

Solana dumped the basket on the table. “Don’t hold her like that.”

“She was wiggling and kicking me.”

“Did you check her? Does she need to be changed?”

“Yes, of course I checked her!”

Solana took the baby into her arms and held her to her chest.

“Maybe she’s hungry?” Cullen suggested.

“No, I fed her just before I left. Shhh, love, shhh.” Solana bounced her gently and her cries grew softer and then she fell silent, blinking as if started by her own behaviour.

“How did you do that?” Cullen wanted to know.

“For starters, I didn’t hold her out in the middle of the air.” Solana’s heart was racing, her stomach still clenched in reaction to her daughter’s screams.

“I didn’t…” Cullen swallowed, wiped a hand across his forehead. “I was holding her properly. We were looking at the pictures.” He gestured to the frames along the wall that now held the portraits of the Amells that Hawke had given Solana. “She was fine. Then she just started screaming.”

“You must have frightened her.”

“I _didn’t_.” He sank onto the bed. “Not intentionally.”

He frowned at the ground, his shoulders sagged. 

_Good going, Solana. Fantastic job being the supportive wife._

She settled beside him. “Perhaps you’re just unfamiliar.”

“I’m her _father_.”

“Yes, but she doesn’t know you yet. Perhaps she grew frightened. I’m not apart from her often. Ever, really.”

“I’m her father, she shouldn’t be frightened of _me_.”

Solana placed a tentative hand on his arm. “She won’t be for long. She just needs time.”

“Time…” Cullen repeated.

 

* * *

 

Cullen’s hands were shaking by the time he reached his office. He’d been slowly raising his dosage, but apparently not slowly enough. He fumbled for the kit, mixing the solution as fast as he could.

He’d reduce his daily dose again once things calmed down. Once he found Anders. But right now it was the only way to cope, it was the only way to think straight.

It would be easier if he could hate Solana, but she had done absolutely nothing since his return to warrant even the slightest annoyance. If she was guilty of anything, it was of being too perfect. She was everything he’d always dreamed she’d be back in the Circle, back in that Harrowing Chamber when he’d fantasised about a life with her. He had pictured her gentle and attentive, a precise counterpoint to the horrors that had surrounded him then.

So why was he not happy now that she was those things? Why did her behaviour do nothing to soothe him? On the contrary, he found himself anxious around her. He was no longer a stammering fool in her presence, he simply could not think of a single thing to say. He had elected to put what she’d done behind him. And yet the things that were unsaid loomed so large that there seemed no space for conversation at all.

He still hadn’t told her about the phylacteries.

He hadn’t told Trevelyan either. When he’d gone back to do so, he’d found the man packing for an excursion to the Frostback Basin, surrounded by servants. And now he was away and Cassandra was in charge.

Cassandra, who was already angry with him, already doubting his ability and worthiness to lead. Cassandra, who would soon be Divine. It was this more than anything that caused Cullen to keep his failure from her. If the Chantry knew about the phylacteries, there was no telling what they would do.

He lifted the philter to his lips, whispered his usual prayer and the door slammed open. The vial slipped from his fingers, splashing precious liquid across his desk as it hit the table and rolled onto the floor.

_Bloody blast it!_ He’d left the door ajar. He shot to his feet, tossing a book over the incriminating lyrium kit.

The recruit who entered was looking down at a report, thank the Maker for small mercies. “Commander, Conder and Shelnen have returned.”

Cullen could hardly be angry with him for entering. He had insisted that he know the instant his men returned from Jader.

He strode around his desk, gripping his sword pommel to hide his quivering hands. “And?”

The recruit glanced up. “No sign of the apostat- sorry, sir.” Old habits died hard, clearly. This must have been one of the ex-Templar recruits. “No sign of the mage, himself. They spent some time questioning the dockworkers and one thinks he might have seen him leave a few weeks ago. Would you like to speak with them?”

He passed Cullen the report. Cullen knew it would be comprehensive. That was partly why he’d sent Shelnen. He was always very thorough.

“That won’t be necessary right now, thank you. I’ll speak to them later once they’ve had time to rest.”

“As you wish, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

The recruit left and Cullen sank back into his chair.

_Close. Too close._ His men had already lost respect for him when he’d run away. How much more would they lose when they discovered he was too weak to stay off lyrium? And if Solana found out…

No, he needed to be more careful. He’d been in too much of a rush to get to his dose this morning and it had almost cost him everything. He couldn’t let that happen again.

He drew one last steadying breath before wiping up his mess.

Then, the report.

The man who said he’d seen Anders claimed he recognised him from Kirkwall where he’d tended to his sick wife. He’d seen him four weeks prior. The timeline matched up. But one critical piece was missing. There was no mention of any cargo. Anders had apparently taken ship with nought but a sack over his shoulder.

So was this dockworker confused? Lying? Protecting Anders?

And if he truly had seen him, that in itself was an oddity. A mage as adept at escaping capture as Anders would surely have been more careful?

As far as leads went, this one was useless. _Useless!_

Cullen threw the report across the room. He growled as he scrubbed at his face with his hands.

_What did you expect? That he’d be staying at a fancy inn overlooking the ocean just waiting for your men to come knocking? You’re an idiot._

Yes, an idiot. An idiot who didn’t know what more to do. Surely the commander of the greatest army in Thedas could find one man?

Not alone.

Not without help.

With a shuddering breath, he rose and went to lock the doors. One by one, he slid bolts methodically into place. Then he retrieved the philter, uncovered the box, closed his eyes and said a prayer for clarity.

It took no more than a few minutes for the lyrium to take effect. It sang in his head, in his heart, in his veins.

Cumberland.

Anders had been heading to Cumberland, according to the dockworker. That’s where Cullen would have to inquire next. If he managed to pick up the trail again, he’d have confirmation that Anders really had travelled that way.

Cumberland… Possibilities blossomed in his mind. Hundreds of them, stretching out before him. He could almost picture them, like a map. Cumberland was on the Imperial Highway. It was the port that linked Orlais and Nevarra. He had men in Hunter Fell. And, through Nevarra, was Tevinter. Could Anders be taking Ferelden’s phylacteries to Tevinter? Dorian could make inquiries. He would do so on behalf of Hawke, surely? Even if he thought this no more than a lovers’ spat.

All was not lost just yet. Cullen needed to send some birds.

 

***

 

The tower was dimmer than Cullen recalled, and quieter. There had always been great numbers of birds coming and going whenever he’d visited before, but now merely a handful glided from perch to perch, a testament to the newfound peace.

He didn’t see Leliana at first, and was about to call for her, when one of the shadows along the wall moved. She was sitting on a bench, watching him from beneath her hood.

He forced a smile. “Good morning.”

“Is it?”

He drew a steadying breath as he moved towards her. It took nearly all of his effort not to fidget, to keep his gaze firm. “I haven’t had the chance to thank you for the other night.” _Other night_ , as if it hadn't been weeks before. 

Her pink lips formed a smirk. “Careful, Commander. You wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea.”

He felt the flush creeping up his neck and he cleared his throat at the sudden tightness constricting it. “You know what I meant.” There didn’t seem to be anyone else listening in - the nearest of her scouts was across the room reading a message that had just arrived. Still, he was very much aware of how efficient the Skyhold rumour mill was.

Leliana rose. “Yes. How is Solana?”

“She is well. She seems well. Happy, I think. It’s… in truth, it’s hard to tell.”

Leliana drifted past him towards her desk. “I’m sure she’s glad to have you back.”

“You haven’t spoken with her?”  

She paused in her movement, then stiffly bent to pick up a scroll. “No.”

That surprised him. “When last did you speak?”

She didn’t look at him. “I don’t believe that’s what you came here for?”

He was always wary of pressing Leliana, but he continued regardless. “You _have_ spoken to her since the... eluvian, though?”

“No. I haven’t.” She turned to him. “Is there something else I can help you with?”

Now he saw her eyes and his breath halted in his chest. He saw in them a reflection of everything he’d been feeling since that day. Leliana scowled, knowing she was caught.

“Leliana, you should speak to her.”

She’d pushed him. This could go both ways.

“I have no desire to.”

“Because you don’t approve of what she did.”

“Because I killed her!” The exclamation was enough to draw the eyes of the other scouts, but Leliana did not seem troubled by that. She sank into her chair.

Cullen stepped closer to her. “She’s hardly going to blame you for that.”

“Maybe not, but it should never have gotten that far. I failed her.”

“If anyone failed Solana, it was me,” Cullen admitted stiffly. “I was with her when she discovered the cure, I… I spent the night with her.” Again, embarrassment crawled across his skin, but he forged on. “She was there, in my arms. If anyone should have had the foresight to stop her, it was me.”

Leliana stared at him like she was looking into his heart. “I don’t mean the ritual itself, Commander. I mean all of it. Blood magic happening right here, people experimenting on our prisoners, Warden Cassey leading the Inquisitor into the Fade… she took over his _mind_. If she had been any more ambitious…” Leliana shook her head. “How much else is happening here that I don’t know about? I always thought that... “ She let out a hollow laugh. “I told myself that the Maker chose me for this, that I was a uniquely talented player of The Game, that I was the best the Inquisition could hope for. But that simply isn’t true. I’ve lost my touch. Or perhaps I never had it at all.” She looked out the window towards the Frostbacks.

Cullen’s heart thundered. This wasn’t the spymaster he knew. He searched for something to say. “How can you doubt yourself after everything we’ve achieved here?”

Her eyes rolled to meet his again. “I was responsible for the fall of Haven too. Did the Inquisitor ever tell you that?” His expression must have confirmed he hadn’t because she continued, returning her gaze to the window. “My scouts started disappearing. I pulled them back, waiting for more intelligence. And then the Red Templars came.”

“There’s no good in blaming yourself for something so far in the past.” He knew a great deal about guilt. If you let it, it would eat you alive.

“Isn’t there?”

“I could just as easily shoulder the blame for Haven. We weren’t prepared, we were not fortified against any kind of assault, much less a dragon. None of us knew about Corypheus.”

“But we should have. We would have. If I was worthy of this position, we-”

On a whim he reached forward and seized her hand. She started, head snapping to stare at him. “You called me your friend. The other night. As your friend, I am telling you that Haven was not your fault, and neither is what happened with Solana.”

“I still should have-”

He pressed his letters into her hand before he could think better of it. “We have bigger concerns.”

He studied her as she examined the letters. This hadn’t been his intention. He’d meant to borrow a bird or two with minimal explanation, he’d meant to let her think he was doing Hawke a favour. He’d even had a speech prepared. And while she scanned the pages, his pulse raced. He swallowed again.

“Why are you trying to find Anders?” she asked.

He felt nauseous. Where did he start? This would make everything worse, surely. If she discovered the phylacteries had been here without her knowl-

A sharp intake of breath interrupted his thoughts and her eyes stretched wider. “Maker, tell me this isn’t what I think?”

“That would depend on what you think.”

“But Solana warded them.”

Relief flushed through him. She knew about the phylacteries already. That was half the battle won. “She did,” he confirmed. “Which is why I haven’t told her they’re missing.”


	3. The ways of nobler men

“Let’s be certain I understand. You suspect that Solana, your wife, the Hero of Ferelden, who requested as her only boon after halting the last Blight that the Circle mages be set free, who’s been patiently helping the mages adjust to that freedom for the last year… you suspect that _ that _ Solana assisted Anders with a plot to steal the phylacteries belonging to those very mages?” Leliana paced before the window, her hands behind her back.    
  


She’d instructed her agents to leave them so they could speak alone. Cullen sighed. “You needn’t make it sound so… paranoid. You’re the one who warned me her power would corrupt her.”

Her sharp gaze came to rest on him. “This was not what I meant.”

He eased himself onto the bench against the wall. “Is it so inconceivable, though? I don’t want to believe she was involved, but she did set up the wards. They repelled darkspawn. And you can’t tell me that Anders came upon the room by accident.” 

Leliana frowned. “Who else knew about the phylacteries?” 

“Aside from Trevelyan? Darrow, Lysette… they are the only two who still live. I would trust them both with my life.”

“Still live?” 

Of course she would pursue. He shifted, his guilt sitting heavy in his stomach. “There were two others, they passed in the Arbor Wilds.”

“Oh.” Leliana’s eyes were still focused on him. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. It was war, losses were to be expected. “Who told you? Or did your spies inform you?”

She smirked and, to his surprise, came to sit beside him. “The Inquisitor informed me. He was… concerned I might act irrationally should I find your people sneaking about.”

“Is it possible he told anyone else?”

“You could ask him?” 

Cullen said nothing. 

“He doesn’t know they’re gone.”

“No. He… I meant to inform him, but I was unable to catch him alone before he left for the Frostback Basin.” A lie, but better than telling her he’d been too much of a coward. 

"There was a night, towards the end of the Blight.” Leliana's voice went low and soft, as if she was lost in memory. “There was a night that her wards failed. Darkspawn invaded our camp, tried to kill us in our sleep. We were very nearly overwhelmed. She never mentioned what went wrong. Perhaps they simply overwhelmed her magic. Last month when… Justice was strong. Stronger than I would have expected.”

Was there an unspoken accusation? Nothing about her expression indicated she blamed Cullen for that strength. 

“You believe he simply broke through Solana’s ward?” 

“It is possible. He still would have had to know where it was and what it hid, however. That night during the Blight, Alistair said the archdemon sent the darkspawn to us. It could sense our location, because of the taint. I don’t know how Anders would have discovered the location of the phylacteries.”

“I can only think of one way.” Cullen dropped his head forward into his hands. “The day that Cassey approached us with her plan, we tracked Solana. She passed through that corridor with Anders. At the time, I accused her... She denied it, of course. But perhaps…”

“You believe she lied?” 

“I don’t know what to believe about her anymore.” He felt Leliana’s gaze on  him again and he wished she’d look away. “I don’t believe she has malicious intent. That, at least, I’m certain of. If she is aiding Anders, it will be because he’s doing something she believes is right. And Maker help anything that stands between my wife and what she believes is right.” 

Leliana drew a deep breath but didn’t offer comment, and every moment of her silence was measured by Cullen’s heartbeat. When had Leliana’s opinion of him started to matter? He waited for her condemnation, or assurance. Neither came.

“I wonder,” she said, eventually. “What would Anders do with the phylacteries? I would have assumed he would break them, erase the final thing that ties so many mages to the Chantry. To take them…” She wandered over to her desk. “It doesn’t make sense.” 

She tapped her bottom lip, eyebrows drawn together. “How many boxes were there? Enough to fill that room, certainly. Too many for one man to carry.” 

“The sister who brought them had them delivered in a single cart.” 

Leliana rifled through papers. “People come and go from Skyhold all the time, but my people keep records. If we search through them around the time he left, we can draw up a shortlist of the possible accomplices.” She grinned at him. “I hope you like paperwork, Commander. This could take us some time.”    
  


 

* * *

 

 

“You seem to be in a good mood,” Samson said, keeping his voice level. 

He watched Celeste’s delicate fingers as she tucked the handkerchief into her basket. Her eyes were downcast, but she was smiling. It was a rare expression and it made his heart do  _ things _ . Things he wasn’t sure he liked. He’d been trying to stare less, but his desire to study her had grown with each visit.  _ Lecherous fool _ . But moments like this, when she was distracted, he let himself drink her in. 

“Special occasion?” he asked. 

Her gaze flicked up to his. “No, not really. Not  _ yet _ .” 

_ Yet? _ His stomach clenched. The immediate thought that jumped into his mind, was an engagement. Of course, she would have suitors. And it shouldn’t matter to him. 

Over the past weeks of shared breakfasts, they had talked a great deal, but he still knew so little about her. She’d confessed she came from Ferelden. Blood mage, Kinloch Hold. It didn’t take a lot of imagination to figure out her past from that. But mostly they had talked about him. He’d told her about Meredith. He’d told her everything about the night that Corypheus had found him. He’d told her many of the things that had happened since. She knew at least as much by now as his interrogators did, maybe more. And what he knew of her amounted to something akin to one of those Chantry windows made up of pieces of coloured glass. Only, he hadn’t filled in all the pieces yet. He had an outline, and each morning he’d look forward to being able to fill in something else. Her hair, he’d learned yesterday, was not naturally blonde. She’d been a redhead once. He had stared at her for a good few minutes trying to picture it after that revelation, until she’d blushed and asked him to stop. 

And today’s revelation would be what brought that smile to her lips. 

“Don’t make me pry,” he prodded. 

She glanced at him from beneath her long lashes. “Alright, I received word today that someone’s coming to visit me here, possibly to stay.”

Traitorous heart, thumping far louder than it had any right to. Traitorous tongue, asking the question even though he had no desire to know the answer. “Someone?” 

She was sunshine and he was dirt. Or, that mucky water in the canal near the corner he’d once called home. Was it not enough to crave lyrium? Must he crave this too? 

“What was that about not prying?” she teased, and smiled again. 

The conversation felt like walking over broken glass. Every step threatened to slice into him.  _ Stupid idiot.  _ “Come on, you can tell me. It’s a fella, isn’t it? Gotta be to make you smile so wide.” 

The moment she took to answer seemed to stretch. His breath stopped. _ What in the Void is wrong with me? _

“It is.”

She was still smiling and he tried to keep his own smile firmly in place despite the icy fingers wrapping around his heart. 

“It’s my son.”

The air left his lungs in a whoosh of relief and surprise. “Your... son?” 

She had a child. Well, fancy that.

Celeste nodded, gaze dropping down to the basket again. “I left him in Denerim when I joined the mages. I wanted him to be safe. And while Skyhold was…” 

“While Skyhold was under threat from me, you mean? Wasn’t safe to have the lad here.”

“Well, yes.”

And here he was leering at her.   _Sick._ “And the father?” 

She squirmed as if something cold and wet had run down her neck. “He’s not in the picture.”

“You can’t mean he left you?” No one would do that. 

“No. He’s dead.”

“Oh. Sorry.”  

“Don’t be. I have Ren.” She made a brave effort at another smile, but it wasn’t the same.

 

* * *

 

 

Cullen hovered in the upper bailey. The sun was already high, it shouldn’t be too much trouble to pull Solana away from her duties under the guise of a mid day meal. 

He ran through what he’d say for the umpteenth time. He hated this. He’d prefer to be direct, but if he simply asked her what she knew of the phylacteries, what was to stop her from lying? Or from giving him the answer she thought he wanted to hear?

He’d tried numerous times over the last weeks to tease the truth from her, without being too obvious. He’d asked about Anders, claiming concern for Hawke, who had been planted in front of the bar ever since Cullen had returned. He’d asked her tentatively about the mages, and he’d been rewarded with enthusiastic explanations of her lessons. He’d made the mistake of mentioning the Circles once. She’d refused to speak to him on the subject, fearing a fight. He knew the techniques for getting answers - nonviolent ones had proved as effective as the alternatives more often than not. But as of yet, none of his strategies had worked on her. 

Leliana was unsatisfied with waiting. If Solana was in league with Anders, she was their best hope of finding him. And if he couldn’t determine where her loyalties lay, Leliana had volunteered to. 

He didn’t want to think what that might entail. Leliana had killed Solana, how much of a leap was it to believe she’d interrogate her? 

He closed his eyes and said a brief prayer. The lyrium would help. 

 

He could not see Solana as he made his way down to the lower courtyard. There were a few people hovering about, it didn’t seem like a lesson was underway and for a glorious moment he thought he’d missed her. He could put off this confrontation for another time. 

But then some merchants moved aside and there she was, kneeling on the grass, surrounded by a throng of children. Her light blue robes almost glowed in the bright sunshine. Her fiery hair escaped from a pin where she’d piled it haphazardly, and it gathered in long almost-blonde wisps against her neck. She was smiling and happy and perfect. His heart started racing. 

Solana held out a small white flower bud to the youngest child, a little redheaded girl who could be no older than eight years of age. The child accepted it with her eyebrows drawn together in concern. 

“Now concentrate, just as I showed you,” Solana said. 

The little girl narrowed her eyes. “It’s not working.” 

“Remember, you’re not grabbing it, you’re letting it flow through you. Imagine your power is a beam of light caressing the petals to wakefulness.”

_ Your power. _ She  _ was _ training mages. Only… smaller ones than he’d anticipated. 

A smile grew on the little girl’s face and before their eyes, the flower started to unfurl. 

“You see,” Solana said. “You  _ can _ do it. It’s  _ your _ power. It does only as you will.”

An older boy, standing at the girl’s side, interjected, “My pa said magic is evil.” 

Solana lifted her gaze to meet his. “If magic was evil, how is it I used it to stop the Blight? Magic is a tool. It’s no more good or evil than the sunlight that feeds our crops but can also burn our skin. A good man will use magic for good ends.” 

The boy appeared to think about this, chewing on his cheek. “But the Chant says-”

Words came forth from Cullen’s mouth automatically. “The Chant says magic is to serve man, never to rule over him.” 

Solana snapped her attention to him, obviously startled by his sudden appearance. The children gasped and whispered. Then Solana smiled once again, at  _ him _ . Warmth flushed down his spine. 

“Commander Cullen, sir,” the boy said. “What about the magisters? Corypheus and the other mages that started the Blights?”

“I don’t want to start a Blight.” The little girl frowned at the flower in her hand. 

Cullen went to stand beside his wife. “Those mages were guilty of more than simply using magic. They broke into the Golden City by sacrificing their slaves and using _blood_ magic. The biggest threat you will face as a mage is not your own power, but the demons who seek it in your dreams. So long as you continue to deny them, you walk in the Maker’s light.” 

Solana’s expression clouded and she dropped her head. “Yes,” she agreed. “Commander Cullen is correct.”

_ Oh Maker,  _ he hadn’t meant… she thought he was talking about her. He cleared his throat, uncertain how to correct his error. 

“Why don’t you all go play?” Solana suggested to her charges. 

As the children ran off, the little girl still proudly clutching her flower, Cullen searched for something to say. Solana moved away from him. Alise’s basket was in the shade of a nearby tree and Solana settled herself down again beside her daughter. He followed. 

“Solana, I... I was…” He cleared his throat again. “It’s a nice day. Perhaps we should have lunch together.” 

Her bright green eyes locked to his and in an instant he saw pain, hope, shame flash across her expression. “You don’t have to do that.”

He eased himself down beside her. “I’d like to.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why’?”

“You’ll see me at dinner, you saw me at breakfast.”

He bristled. “I apologise, I didn’t realise I had a strict allotment of time with you.” 

Breath hissed from between her teeth. “That’s not what I meant.” Her gaze slid from his. “You haven’t had much to say to me these past weeks, even at meal times. I’m… surprised you desire my company. That’s all.”

“You are my wife,” he said, not knowing what else to say. 

“Yes…” She watched their sleeping daughter. “I am your wife, and you wish to discuss something specific. You’re not one for picnics, or lunch, or food in general if we’re to be honest. Which means you have a reason for this meeting, just as you have a reason for everything you do. And if we are to talk seriously, I would rather we do so here. Unless it is something sensitive, in which case we can return to our quarters. I would rather not… I’d rather not pretend it’s something it’s not.” A small smile flickered on her lips, but she looked inexorably sad.   

She was also right and he tasted the humiliation, as bitter as defeat. He knew it was likely written across his face. So he did the only thing he could think to do. He lunged forward and kissed her. 

She went stiff with surprise, and for an instant he thought he’d made an awful mistake. Then her fingers curled around the back of his neck and her lips responded. Heat raced through him at the taste of her, the feel of her. Lips soft and familiar, it felt like returning home after a long time away. And it  _ had _ been a long time. The last time he’d kissed her like this had been that night.

The night she’d left him and taken their daughter into danger. 

The memory instantly cooled his passions and he pulled away, finding her breathless, eyes closed. 

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t… it was too… he stumbled to his feet, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.” 

He was across the courtyard and halfway to his office before he even knew he’d decided to leave. 

 

* * *

 

The larder was always cold no matter the time of year, but this day Celeste didn’t mind. She couldn’t stop smiling and had even caught herself humming. 

She was going to see Ren again. Soon. The letter from her sister sat in her apron pocket and she kept taking it out and re-reading it. When she’d suggested he come, she hadn’t expected the next letter would say he was already on his way. Her nerves fluttered. Would he even recognise her after so long apart?  _ Two years. _ How tall he must be now. Did he still enjoy-

The shadows to her left moved. She spun towards them, a barrier spell snapping from her hand. 

Cullen raised his hands, palms facing her. “It’s only me.”

She blinked. “Commander? I... “ What was he doing sneaking around the larder?

He moved to the door and pressed it closed. Darkness swallowed them. 

“A light if you will?” His voice remained soft.

She cast fire into one of the sconces above them. His face, illuminated by the flames, was drawn. “I know you’ve been taking bread from the kitchens at the end of your shifts.”

Her stomach knotted. Had Solana said something to him? It seemed unlike her, but then so had… other things she’d done recently. Before Celeste could form a response, he moved closer.

“I know you’ve been taking it to Raleigh Samson. You’ve been spending a lot of time with him.”

Her heart thudded. “Is that a problem?”

“No.” His shoulders moved as he drew a deep breath. “I need to ask you a favour.”

“To do with Ser Samson?” Dread crept through her. “If it’s information you want I assure you he’ll speak to you without my-”

Cullen shook his head. The flickering light threw shadows over his eyes, she wasn’t sure what to make of his expression. “It is to do with him, but not how you think. I’d like you to take Solana to apologise to him.”

She wasn’t sure she heard right. “ _ Apologise _ ?”

“She put a demon in him and then killed him, I think she owes him one, don’t you?” The Commander didn’t sound like himself. 

“I don’t understand why you need me. If she’s seeking penance, she’s perfectly capable of going herse-”

“She’s not.”

“She’s not capable?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “She’s not seeking penance. Maker, this is harder than I thought. I… I apologise if I’m overstepping, but I am having difficulty forgetting what transpired and, I believe you are too.” His gaze met hers. “Am I wrong?” 

Celeste’s throat constricted. “Solana saved my life…”

“And you’ve saved hers. Your friendship is not in question. Forgive me, I mean only that I feel that I can trust you.”

_ Well there’s one for the books. _ “You’d trust the maleficar?”

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

She folded her arms. “You want me to take Solana to apologise to Samson. And then what? I’m afraid I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking of me.”

Cullen scratched the back of his neck. “I need to observe her.” 

“Observe her?” Celeste arched an eyebrow. 

“I’d like you to guide her to Samson without her knowledge. You used a corridor to reach him once, cutting through the back of the gaol?” The day he’d followed them using Solana’s tainted blood as a beacon. 

“It’s a test.” Celeste was starting to understand. “You want to see how she reacts when confronted with him. Leave the apology up to her?”

The tension seemed to drain from Cullen’s face. “Yes. Yes, that’s precisely it.” 

Of all the ridiculous things. “Commander, I’m not sure I can help you with this.” 

“It’s nothing untoward.”

“Nothing untoward? I may not be an expert when it comes to relationships, but I’m relatively certain-”

“I need to know! I need to know where she stands!” His anguish seemed excessive on Samson’s behalf. Celeste could only imagine that he somehow saw an equivalence between what Solana did to Samson and what she’d done to Alise. He paced, burying his head in his hands. 

“Have you considered asking her?”

He laughed hollowly. “And relying on her honesty?” 

“She’s not a monster, Commander. We might not approve of what she did, but she did it out of love. You can’t deny that. She wouldn’t have let any harm come to Alise-”

“You weren’t there. You didn’t see what she became.”

A cold shiver passed down Celeste’s back. Yes, she’d heard Solana had become an abomination, that Cullen had very nearly had to kill her. “I may not have seen it for myself, but I saw her remorse in the weeks that followed. She wouldn’t speak to anyone, Commander. She wouldn’t have eaten at all if it hadn’t been for Alise, and then only when I brought her food. Ever since you returned she’s been fussing about how to please you, how to apologise with actions if not words. I even told her to ease up for fear she’d irritate you. She stands  _ with you _ . Of that I am certain.”

“And yet I never see you with her anymore.” 

Celeste dropped her gaze to her feet. For all her words, he was right. 

“Take her with you tomorrow morning when you visit Samson. Please, I beg of you.”

“And if she doesn’t apologise, what then?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

 

* * *

 

Cullen braced himself before entering their quarters. The moons were higher than they usually were when he returned. He’d procrastinated as long as he could without making matters even worse. 

With a deep breath, he opened the door.

The room was filled with the warm glow from the fireplace and the tantalising scent of dinner - his favourite stew it seemed - filled his nostrils. She was standing across the room, with her back to him. She stiffened at his entrance. 

“Solana… I… I owe you an apology.” 

She turned slowly. Alise was cradled in her arms, asleep by the looks of it. “For which part?” Solana asked.“The disingenuous lunch invitation, the kiss, or for running away?”

His heart thudded. “All of it?” 

The distance between them felt like the Abyssal Rift as she nodded and turned away from him again. “Dinner is ready, you’re welcome to start while I put her down.” 

He moved to the table. It was neatly laid with two bowls of fragrant stew, two wooden spoons and a basket of rolls. She knew he enjoyed rolls with this dish, she’d made the effort to get them.

He didn’t eat until she sat down opposite him. Her hair was loose now, and bright red in the firelight. Her gaze lingered on her food. “How was the rest of your day?”

It was the same question she asked every night. She was slipping back into the routine, as if nothing unusual had happened. He should have been grateful, but he found himself frustrated.  _ So that was it? _ Just another thing they didn’t talk about. Another thing she shoved down inside her, behind her pretty smile. 

“You don’t want to talk about what happened?” 

She reached for a roll. “Not particularly.” 

He snatched her hand. Her eyes flew up to his. Fear. What was it Celeste said? _Ever since you returned she’s been fussing about how to please you, how to apologise with actions if not words._ And here was his favourite meal waiting for him, when he’d been expecting confrontation. 

“Solana. We should talk.”

She didn’t pull her hand back. It was soft and limp in his. “Say what you will, then.”

“Aren’t you angry with me?” 

“No.” 

He waited, searching for something to say that would garner some reaction. 

A sad semi-smile lit her lips, wavered and was gone. “How can I be angry with you for what you feel?”

The air was thin, like the moment before bloodshed. He knew so much hung on his response, and yet he couldn’t bring the words forth to reassure her. 

Then Alise wailed and the moment was lost. Solana tugged her hand free and went to see to their child.


	4. Broken

Sleep hovered just out of Cullen’s reach for most of the night. He lost himself in thoughts, in regrets, in trying to imagine how the scheme he’d drawn Celeste into would play out. He came to full wakefulness some time before dawn.

A high-pitched sound drew his attention to Solana’s side of the bed. His wife’s chest rose and fell with steady breathing, but his daughter lay against her bared breast. Solana must have dropped off while nursing. Alise made another sound and wiggled, kicking out her legs. 

Solana didn’t stir. Staring at her face in the moonlight, Cullen could see discolouration around her eyes. She’d been crying. His throat constricted. 

Alise whimpered again. Her small bright eyes found Cullen as he sat up. At least, he thought they did. It was difficult to tell just how much she could see. She made another sound, forehead wrinkling. 

“Wind, is it?” Cullen asked his daughter, softly. She squeaked as if to confirm. 

Being careful not to wake Solana, Cullen reached over and lifted Alise. He cringed, expecting her to start crying as he slipped his hand behind her head, but she made no sound. He realised he was holding his breath and let it out as he drew her little body to his shoulder. He’d seen Solana and Celeste burp her. It had seemed simple enough. 

He patted her back, gingerly. She was so tiny, so light, so soft. He hardly dared move for fear of injuring her in some way. 

Then she burped in his ear. 

It was not just a burp, it was a  _ belch _ . The kind he would have expected from a grown man who had been drinking half the evening. Alise stared at him, as startled by the sound as he was.

“Maker’s Breath,” he whispered, shaking with suppressed laughter. “Where did that come from?” 

Alise was still staring at him. Was she going to cry? He felt as if he was holding a barrel of  _ gatlock _ , one false move and it would explode in his face. Instead, she reached out her tiny hand to touch his cheek. 

He held his breath again. Her fingers brushed over his stubble. Would it hurt her? Surely it would be too rough against her skin? Her hand closed around his nose. Her mouth opened and he tensed for a wail, but instead her eyes lit up as she gave him a gummy grin. 

Many years ago, when he was a fresh Templar, he had seen a smile that had done something similar to him. Across a crowded dining hall, lips just like these. But this… if falling for Solana had made his heart feel like it was diving from his chest, this felt like his heart was diving from the top of Skyhold’s tallest tower and soaring down to the Frostback valleys below. Nothing else mattered. Anders, the Inquisition, the Circles… it all meant nothing so long as she was smiling like that.   
  
_ Be strong for her, _ Cole had said a year before. Cullen had thought he’d meant Solana. But he knew now that he hadn’t. Cole had known about Alise from when she was the tiniest seed. He had known that Cullen was weak. What else had he known? Had he known what Solana would do? Had he known how Cullen would run? Had he known that Cullen would turn to lyrium?

Alise’s smile broke into a yawn and Cullen cradled her close.

Maker, what was he doing? Taking lyrium was shortening his life. How could he protect her when he was doomed to lose his mind? 

How could he protect her without it?     
  


* * *

Morning sun gathered in narrow rectangles across the stone floor and Celeste’s string of steady chatter bounced off the walls, filling the dim recesses of Skyhold with an unusual cheer. Solana would have been glad of it, had it not been so suspicious. 

It wasn’t like Celeste to talk this much. She was probably excited about Ren’s imminent arrival, but even so, Solana’s suspicion deepened the further into Skyhold they walked, the more times Celeste refused to answer where they were going. 

“I don’t like surprises,” Solana said eventually, interrupting the other woman’s babble mid-sentence. 

Her eyes shot to Solana’s.  _ Something’s wrong. _

Anxiety tightened Solana’s stomach. “Please, tell me where we’re going?”

She’d been collecting that morning’s rolls in the kitchen when Celeste had begged her to come with her. Solana hadn’t thought to disagree. She’d thought that Celeste wanted help carrying something from the stores or a task equally mundane. She’d been satisfied to leave the sleeping Alise with one of the other servers, thinking she’d be back in a moment. 

She was on the verge of turning and heading back, when a new kind of unease prickled across her skin. 

“Solana, are you well?”

She’d stopped walking, listened. What had upset her senses?

Celeste placed a warm hand on her arm. “It’s not much further.”

“ _ Wha _ t isn’t much further?” Her pulse was beginning to hum. 

Solana didn’t wait for another non-answer. She drifted forward cautiously, magic sparking in her palms.  Something familiar brushed at her senses. The desire to turn away increased, sitting heavy in her chest. But she recognised it at once for what it was. 

Her ward. 

If she’d been paying closer attention and not trying to listen politely to Celeste’s prattle, she would have realised. But now there was no doubt about it. They were in _ that  _ corridor, this was  _ her _ ward, but it felt sour and wrong. Like that night the darkspawn had attacked the camp. 

_ Alistair had almost died.  _

Her senses were no longer attuned to darkspawn, but they were attuned to magic. Someone had messed with her wards. 

She rounded on Celeste. “Tell me what we’re doing here. Now.”

Celeste’s face blanched. “What…”

She didn’t want to hurt Celeste, but she advanced on her as if she did. She’d learned how to intimidate when needed. “Tell me.”   


“Solana, I don’t understand.” 

“Why did you bring me here?”  

Celeste held up her hands plaintively. “Please calm down.”

“Why is it a secret?” 

Celeste backed into the wall and swallowed. 

“If I’m overreacting then tell me why we’re here,” Solana growled. “Or was it you? Did you do this? Blood magic?”

Celeste’s eyes had been growing wider and wider and on the last word she physically twitched as if Solana had slapped her. “I don’t understand.” And from the wobble in her voice, Solana believed her. 

Solana reached behind her to caress the edges of her broken wards with the tips of her fingers, not daring to move her eyes from Celeste. “So someone told you to bring me here. Who?”

Celeste stared at her as if she’d transformed into an abomination. “I… Solana, please.”

“Who!”

“It was me.” 

Solana spun towards the familiar voice emanating from the entrance behind her, the one her wards had been protecting. Cullen stood with the door open just a crack, shadows across his face. 

Her heart slammed. “Why?” 

But Cullen spoke over her shoulder, to Celeste. “Forgive me, the ruse was necessary. You may proceed.” 

“Proceed?” There was a note of steel in Celeste’s voice now that hadn’t been there before. “I don’t know who you think I am, Commander, but I am not a pawn to be used in some game. If you think you can-”

“Leave us!” His bellow made Solana jump.

Celeste stiffened. “You owe me for this, Commander.” She turned as he'd asked, but not before adding, “I will not be toyed with.”

Cullen’s expression did not falter as her footsteps retreated. 

“What is this?” Solana asked. “Did you have someone alter my wards? Were you hoping I wouldn’t notice?” 

“On the contrary.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was hoping you  _ would _ notice. If you had not, I would have had to assume you played a part in this.”

“This?” 

He stepped aside, revealing the inside of the room. 

It was empty.

 

For a moment, Solana couldn’t breathe. Her every muscle tightened, as if she’d been caught in a paralysis spell. Then, her breath escaped her in a gasp. 

He walked into the room and she followed. 

“You thought I stole the phylacteries?” 

“I feared it, yes.” He seemed to loom against the light from the arrow holes, and he peered out of one, as if checking no one was listening in to their conversation.

“How could you think that? I helped you ward the room. I helped you hide them.”

“And you led Anders to them.” 

“This again?” Realisation hit before he could respond. “Anders. You think Anders took the phylacteries? He’s been gone over a month. How long have you known about this?” 

Cullen pulled something out of his surcoat pocket and held it out to her. It flashed brightly in rhythm with her heart. Her phylactery. She stared at it pulsing in his palm.  “I still had this. It’s how we found you _that_ day. I thought I should return it to its proper place.” 

She’d never had the chance to explain why she’d had it. “Cullen…”

“Don’t. I don’t need to hear about why you took it. That’s the answer to your question. That’s how long I’ve known.”

Solana folded her arms and tried to fight off the roaring anger coursing up through her. “We’ve seen each other every morning and every evening since you returned. You should have told me.” 

He thrust the phylactery back into his pocket. “I didn’t tell you because I wished to ascertain whether or not you were assisting him, and now I am convinced you knew nothing of this.”

This wasn’t the first test, this was only the most desperate. This was why he’d been so quiet, so withdrawn. He’d been watching her, measuring her… this was what the lunch invitation had been about, the kiss. Bitter disappointment warred with the anger rushing through her. She hadn’t confessed, even to herself, how much hope that kiss had given her. But it had been a lie. 

“You honestly thought I was a part of this?”

His eyes met hers. “Is it so inconceivable? You’ve shown sympathy with his cause, you’ve formed a friendship with him, and you’re singularly capable-” 

Each word hurt more than the last. “You’re talking about selling out the mages! How could you think me capable of that?”

“Ask me two months ago and I may well have struggled to.”

She stared at him, searching for words. Her tongue felt numb. “But because of how I saved our daughter, you believe I’m capable of anything?” 

“This isn’t about saving her, Solana!”

“No, it’s about the fact that you don’t trust me.”

“How could I? Maker’s Breath. You came into the Fade, you saw what… what they did to me. You held me in your arms. We made love. And then you left me. You took our innocent baby daughter from the safety of my family and you put a demon in her. You became an abomination. I very nearly had to kill you with my own hands. Do you have any idea what that was like?”

“You weren’t supposed to be there! It was only meant to be Morrigan and-”

“How does that make it  _ better _ ?”

“I’m sorry! I knew what the cure was. She could be normal, healthy. I knew that if I told you, you’d feel obligated to stop me. That or, if something went wrong, you’d never forgive yourself. I didn’t want you to be culpable-”

“No. Don’t act like you did this for me. Don’t act like you even so much as  _ considered  _ me. What you did… it’s the exact same thing you did to Alistair.  _ You _ made a choice that should have been  _ ours _ .” 

Each of his words were like the meteors in Hawke’s favourite spell, crashing into her. Her chest became too tight to draw in air. All she managed was a breathless, "What?" 

His eyes went wide, but he didn’t take back what he’d said. Then his features hardened once more. "Is it any wonder I believed you might do the same to the mages?" 

There was no retort, nothing she could say, and nothing she could do. The desire to flee became overwhelming. The room was airless. She needed to escape.

She rushed past him, out into the corridor. He called after her, but she didn’t slow. 

 

_ Alistair, running to stab the archdemon… _

 

_ Morrigan’s words “I offer a way out, a way out for all Grey Wardens, that there need be no sacrifice.” _

 

Cullen clattered after her. She didn’t even know where she was going until she’d reached the stairs up to their quarters. The urge to get away was more than just a drive to leave a single argument. She flew through the door, not even pausing as she came to the dresser. 

Cullen burst through after her. “Solana, what are you doing?”

She pulled her clothing out of her drawer, piled it onto the bed. She’d be able to carry everything in the bedspread. “This isn’t going to work, Cullen. I think we both know that.” Her voice shook.  

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her around to face him. “Stop this.” 

“We were fooling ourselves.” Her vision blurred and she brushed the tears away, annoyed at her own weakness. 

“You’re being irrational.” 

She tugged her wrist free. “Do you even want me here?” He stared at her.  _ Confirmation.  _ She turned back to her packing, the desperation leaving in a rush of pain and disappointment. “I’m tired. I’m tired of trying to force this to work when it doesn’t. You are right. I’m not a good wife and no amount of meals or polite conversation is going to change that.”

“I didn’t say…” He swallowed. “Where will you go?” It sounded like he had something stuck in his throat.

“We’ll stay in the servants’ quarters.” _ We.  _ It should have been clear that she’d be taking Alise with her, but he jerked at the word regardless. “There’s space now,” she continued as if she hadn’t noticed. “Skyhold has emptied out significantly since the war.”

“This is ridiculous. You should stay here. I'll go to my office. I fixed this room for you. It's yours.”

A note drifted out of the dresser to the floor as she removed the last of her items. Cullen bent to pick it up, but she knew it held nothing of significance. It was the letter she’d been unable to send him, about Alise’s Blight. 

“Exactly,” she said, in response to his words. “ _ You _ fixed this room. I can’t stay here.” 

It was a small dagger thrust between his ribs. She saw it hit home. He swallowed again, nodded, and she instantly regretted it but it was too late to undo the hurt. 

“You’re of course welcome to see Alise whenever you wish,” she said, turning from him to gather up her belongings. 

“Thank you,” he said softly. 

He sank onto the bed, head bowed. 

_ What are you doing, Solana? You’re hurting him again.  _ “This will be better, in the long run,” she said. “I… want you to be happy.” 

“Of course you do,” he muttered. 

With nothing else left to say, she went to fetch Alise.

 

* * *

 

So that was marriage. 

Cullen stared at his lap, listening to his own heartbeat in the empty room. 

Vows meant to last a lifetime had lasted less than a year. He had failed at this endeavour just as he had failed at so much else.

It should feel like a victory, knowing she wasn’t involved in whatever Anders had done, and yet it felt like death. He tried to think of a single worse way he could have handled it and came up empty. 

In his hand, a note she had never sent. 

 

_ Dearest Cullen, _

_ Please forgive me. My worst nightmare has come to pass. I will do everything in my power to remedy this. I promise. _

 


	5. Heart remiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there is fluff coming soon to counter all this angst!
> 
> Pretty major spoilers for DA2 in this one.

“A sex dungeon,” Samson said.

“A what?” Celeste stifled a giggle.

“It’s a room where they… experiment…”  His eyes locked with hers. He was calling her bluff, willing her to make him continue the explanation. When she raised her eyebrows, a crafty smile lifted the corner of his mouth.  “With erotic pleasure and pain… bondage, discipline, dominance... submission.” 

“No, stop.” She held up a hand to halt him. She didn’t want to picture Cullen and Solana in any of the activities he was suggesting. 

Samson leaned close the the bars, his face flushed with humour and his eyes sparkling. “What, you can’t see it?”

“I  _ can _ see it. That’s the problem.” Celeste closed her eyes and scrunched up her face in mock disgust. “Gives a whole new meaning to ‘Commander’.”

Samson chuckled, a deep and surprisingly melodic sound. “Oh, I highly doubt he’d be the one in command.” 

It took Celeste a beat to understand what he was implying and then laughter bubbled up from her chest and she was overcome.

“Oh Maker, I hope you’re wrong,” she said when she found her breath again. 

“Do you have a better idea?” 

She’d been so angry with Cullen when she’d arrived, that she’d told Samson everything he’d done. He’d listened without saying anything, and only when she’d finished speaking had he asked what she thought they might have been hiding in that warded room. 

“If I knew, do you believe I’d tell you?” she’d asked, without thinking.

She’d regretted it the moment the she said it. His face had fallen, but he’d quickly forced a smile. “Well, there goes that cunning plan.” 

She’d apologised as she’d knelt beside the bars and handed him his bread. Cool now, not warm like usual. But he didn’t even seem to notice as he accepted it, eyes downcast. 

“Lyrium,” she’d said, because she’d needed to say something and that had seemed the most likely guess. 

He’d smirked. “Rutherford has his own private stash? I can believe it.” 

“He doesn’t take it of course,” she’d added as she tore off a piece of bread for herself. “He just likes to glare at it. It’s how he practises that glower.” 

That had brought a real smile to his face. And then they’d been off, each guess more ridiculous than the one preceding it. 

Now she realised that she, too, had grown close to the bars. Close to him. If it weren’t for the metal between them, they may well have been touching. 

“I was going to suggest nugs,” she said. Her face was growing hot. Would he think it was because he’d embarrassed her by talking about sex? She concentrated on her hands. 

“Nugs?” he prompted. 

“A room of nugs that the commander could go and cuddle whenever his duties became overwhelming.” When he didn’t react, she added, “Seems tame now.” 

“Depends what he’s doing with those nugs.”  

Again laughter tore through her, even though she was shocked at herself. And he joined her. When he laughed he seemed to have an inner glow. He became a younger man, one unjaded by the trials of the past years. One who had become a templar. 

That was an unwelcome thought.

“Is something the matter?” Samson asked.

“No, why?” She pushed the idea of templars from her mind. 

“You’re staring at me.” He ran a hand through his hair. The hair he’d lost while on red lyrium was starting to grow back and it occurred to her that he might have misinterpreted her gaze. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realise. I… my thoughts drifted.” 

“I see.” He shifted. “I’m going to assume it wasn’t in the direction of creative things to do with nugs…” 

The quip might have landed, were it not for the anxiety still in his eyes. Brown eyes now, not a trace of red. And her breath was trapped in her chest as she stared at them. 

_ I know you’ve been taking it to Raleigh Samson. You’ve been spending a lot of time with him. _

Was it obvious to everyone except her? Her cheeks were heating again and she scrambled to stand. “I… I’d better go see to… duties.” 

“Oh,” Samson said, and she could hear the disappointment in his voice. “Yeah, of course.” 

“Thank you… I… sorry.” 

She snatched up her basket and flew from the gaol. Though as soon as she was out in the corridor, she pressed her back to the cool wall and took several deep breaths. There was a warmth in her stomach, a tingling down her arms right to her hands. Her heart felt large and full and her one desire was to go back into that room and… and what? She pressed her hands to her cheeks, willing them to cool.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cabot eyed Solana for a long moment, absently drying the mug in his hand.

“A glass of water please,” she repeated. With a shrug, he decided she was serious and went to fetch a pitcher. 

Solana slid into her old chair and leaned down on the bar. Her heart was still hammering, her pulse racing. In truth what she needed was a drink, but she didn’t dare while she was still nursing. 

“I just left Cullen,” she said softly.

Hawke, who was sitting on the other stool, hadn’t so much as greeted her. At her words, he turned his head to look at her.

He’d grown a thick black beard and his eyes were bleary. She knew he’d taken to coming here after Anders had left, but she hadn’t tried to approach him. 

“Wow… that is a surprise,” he said. “I would have expected him to be the one to leave you.” 

She sucked in air. His response shouldn’t have cut the way it did. She knew how he’d come to feel about her. Yet, he had once called her family. He was the only family she had now besides Alise. 

Cabot set down a mug of water, and Solana reached for it with a trembling hand. 

“Sorry,” Hawke mumbled. 

“You’re not wrong.” She drank deeply, the cold liquid sending jolts of pain up into her head, a blissful distraction if only for a few minutes. 

“So, what did he do?” Hawke stared into his ale.

“What?” 

“What did the Commander do? There must be a reason. I’m assuming it’s not blood magic and demons, because last thing I checked those weren’t exactly a deal breaker for you.” 

Solana took another swig of her water. “Nothing. He didn’t do anything. He doesn’t love me anymore, and it just took me two weeks of foolish hoping to realise he probably never will.”

Hawke started laughing and shook his head. 

“You going to tell me why that’s funny?”

“Nope.” He lifted his mug and took a long drink, then slammed it on the table and waved to Cabot for another. “So, where’s the baby? Don’t tell me you left her too.”

“No! Of course not. She’s in the servant’s quarters. There’s a woman who works in the kitchens, has children of her own… we’re rooming with her now. She offered to babysit. I… Hawke?” 

He was still shaking his head, eyes closed. “What are you doing here, Solana?”

“I came here for a drink.”

“Water.”

“Well I can’t exactly have alcohol.” 

“You could have gone anywhere else.” His words were slightly slurred. “Yet you come here, and sit down next to me. What do you want from me? Comfort?” 

Another cold slap. She squared her shoulders. “I didn’t come here to see you.” 

“Then go sit somewhere else.” 

She bit into her bottom lip. She waited for him to change his mind, apologise again. But he didn’t. So, she nodded and slipped from her stool. “Alright. Sorry.” 

She was aware of eyes following her as she took her mug upstairs, and she heard snippets of gossip. She hadn’t exactly been discreet in her dash up to her quarters.  Most of Skyhold probably already knew what had happened between her and Cullen. 

Cole was sitting on the upper floor of the tavern, the only quiet part. The rest of the patrons had given him a wide berth. His legs were crossed and he was rocking back and forth.

“Fancy some company?” she asked.

He glanced up at her, then back at his feet. “No, but you do.” 

She hesitated. 

“You can sit,” Cole said.

“Thank you.”

She settled on the top step and half dreaded what Cole would say next. But he never got the chance. 

Hawke came stumbling up the stairs. He skipped one, tripped, caught himself, splashed half his mug of ale across the stairs then stood swaying a few feet from her.  “No, Solana, wait. Look, I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes he did,” Cole provided. 

Hawke’s gaze shot to Cole, then back to Solana. “Did I ever tell you about the war I started by accident?” His slur was even more pronounced on the last word. 

Solana stood again. “I think everyone knows about what happened with the Chantry.”

He cut the air with the flat of his hand. “No, not _ that _ war. The one with the Qunari.” 

“Oh,  _ that  _ war,” Solana said. “You mentioned the Arishok.”

Hawke climbed up the last few stairs, gripping the banister for support. “Right. So. I didn’t mean to start a war. I wanted to do the right thing. I was just doing what I thought was best. But it wasn’t best. A lot of people got hurt. Some died. They called me the Champion for it, but that’s because they didn’t know.” He gestured with his ale again, splashing more along the top landing. “Thing is. My point. My point... “ His face clouded. 

“You wanted to tell her about consequences,” Cole reminded him in a voice that sent a chill rushing up Solana’s spine.

“Right, yes. My point. Consequences.” He jabbed a finger at her. “What you did. It could have consequences. Doesn't matter your intentions. We all know your intentions. Save your kid. Good. Yeah, we love your baby too. But how… messing with that stuff. Just playing around with it as if you’re…” He sat heavily on the top step beside where Solana stood. “I’ve known people who’ve thought that their intentions warranted the use of such.... It doesn’t end well. It never ends well.” 

“He means his mother,” Cole said. 

Hawke’s head snapped up, brow furrowed. “Don’t.”

“It hurts too much to talk about, even now.” Cole’s interest must have been piqued by whatever Hawke was thinking, because he drifted towards them, staring at Hawke in that disconcerting way he had. “You found the Amell shield in a chest.”

“Maker, Cole.” Hawke buried his head in his hands. 

“It shouldn’t have been there. It wasn’t her place.” 

“What’s he talking about?” Solana asked. 

“Nothing.” Hawke ran his hands through his hair. “He’s not talking about anything.”

“Face just like hers,” Cole said. “You knew it when you saw the picture.” Then, to Solana, “The picture that he gave to you.”

“Yes.” His teeth were gritted. “And I didn’t tell her for a reason. Can you leave it alone? That’s not what I came up here to say.” 

“Yes it is,” Cole argued. He turned to Solana. “He came up here because he doesn’t want you to go dark like your father.”

“My father?” Solana’s heart kicked against her chest. “What does my father have to do with anything?” 

“A maleficar killed my mother,” Hawke said on a sigh. “He killed her for her face. He had reconstructed the woman he loved from pieces of bodies belonging to other women.”

“Maker!”

“I… I tried to track him down and failed. I gave up. And then he got her. By the time I found his lair, he’d completed his work. She was reanimated, a shambling monster. I killed him and she died in my arms. Isabella found a shield tucked away in a chest at the foot of his bed. It bore my family crest.”

Solana’s stomach lurched. Her knees were too weak to hold her. She sank to the ground beside him. “You think this man… this man was my  _ father _ ?” 

“Revka and my mother were virtually identical. You can see it in that etching. As I told you, she and her family disappeared. I know nothing for certain.” 

Ice flushed through Solana, she wanted to be sick. The trembles that had followed her from her quarters overwhelmed her again. She started shaking so hard she had to wrap her arms around herself. 

“So you can see why I was somewhat adverse to the idea of you playing around with blood magic and demons. But even if I didn’t suspect what I did… Solana, how could you? You’re the Hero of blighted Ferelden. You are possibly one of the most powerful mages in Thedas. We believed in you. They all did. You didn’t just betray Cullen that day. You betrayed all of us.”

“I want to make it right,” she managed, although her voice was so small she wasn’t sure he heard it until he answered. 

“I’m not sure you can.” 

* * *

 

 

Cullen rapped softly on the door, even though Josephine’s office was always open when she wasn’t meeting with visiting nobles. 

She looked up from her desk and smiled at him. “Commander, did we have a meeting scheduled?”

He moved into the room, relying on the lyrium to keep him steady. “No. I wanted to ask a favour.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows shot up. He seldom spoke to her at all, and had never asked anything of her. 

“It’s…” He tried to maintain eye contact but failed, his gaze darting to the fireplace, then to her desk. “I wished to know if any of the guest suites are currently available?” 

Josephine stood. “Oh, is your family coming to visit us again?” 

Cullen cleared it. “No. It’s for Solana.” 

He dared not look at Josephine’s face. He didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t think he could. He pressed on. “I offered to move to my office, of course, but she refused. She’s in the servant’s quarters at the moment. I thought one of the guest suites would be preferable. She can’t very well keep the servants up with a crying baby and-”

“And you want her to be comfortable.” She’d closed the distance between them.

“Yes,” he said. His voice sounded strangled. 

“It will not be a problem, Commander. We’ve had few visitors since the war ended.” 

His breath came out in a rush. “Thank you.” 

When he risked a glance at her face, he wished he hadn’t. Her dark eyes were shining with pity. How much did the ambassador know of what had happened through the eluvian? Probably everything, thanks to Leliana. At the very least she knew that something had caused him to flee Skyhold, leaving his wife and child behind. 

“Additionally…” Now the difficult part. He hesitated, trying to think of an alternative. Then cursed himself for being silly. “I wondered if you could perhaps offer the room to her. I… if she knows I asked you about it…” 

“Consider it done, Commander.”

“Thank you. I… I’ll leave you to your work.” 

Josephine inclined her head and drifted to her desk as he made for the door. As he reached it, she called, “One more thing, Commander.” 

He turned back to her. She’d picked up a report and was paging through it. “We haven’t recruited any more templars, have we?” 

“No, not that I’m aware.”

“I only ask because our lyrium supplies seem to be running lower than I’d anticipated.” 

His stomach dropped. She didn’t look up from her report and for that he was grateful. She wouldn’t have seen the colour drain from his face. 

“Perhaps you miscalculated?” Surely his extra dose per day didn’t make that much of a difference? 

She gave a hollow laugh. “Please do not let the Chantry hear you say such things. Our use of lyrium is supposed to be strictly monitored.” She frowned at her page. “But perhaps you are correct. I will have to be more vigilant.”

“Yes,” he croaked. “I mean…” The hairs on the back of his neck rose, as they loved doing when he felt nervous. He fought the urge to rub them. “I will keep a closer watch too.”

Now her eyes did rest on him and he was almost certain she knew. His heart pounded rapidly as she looked at him. 

“You should get some rest, Commander.” Pity again. “Do not concern yourself with this matter for now. I will speak to Solana.” 

It seemed she’d interpreted his nervousness as relating to his wife. He nodded and turned from her before she decided otherwise.    
  


* * *

 

 

The light streaming into Cullen’s office was crimson by the time he entered, shoulders aching from a long afternoon of training. He'd thought to exhaust himself so that perhaps he could sleep despite Solana’s absence. 

With the Inquisitor in the Frostback Basin, there wasn’t all that much for him to do, so he’d decided to dedicate the evening to going through Leliana’s scout reports. 

He was not expecting to find someone in his office. 

His heart leapt when the evening sun gave the impression of a short redhead.  _ Solana, come to make up? _ But no, it was just a trick of the light. It was Celeste. She turned when she heard him enter. 

“I do not wish to discuss it,” he said, setting his sword on his desk. “Please, can this wait until tomorrow?”

“You used me.” 

_ Evidently not.  _ “And I apologised. It was necessary.”

“Why? Why was it necessary?”

“How long have you been waiting here?” 

“What’s in that room?” 

“Nothing. It’s empty.” He strode around his desk, rolling his neck, which gave a satisfying click. His armour was too heavy on his shoulders, fatigue was settling into his muscles. He’d possibly pushed himself too hard out there. 

“Alright.” Celeste folded her arms. “What  _ was _ in there?”

He eyed her wearily, weighing up the possible consequences of telling her the truth.  _ Maleficar.  _ It had better be a half truth. “Something valuable. It has been stolen.” 

“And you thought Solana stole it?” 

“I thought she might have. Few people knew about it.”

“She placed the wards,” Celeste said, as understanding dawned. “You wanted to test whether she was surprised about them being broken. You needed me to lead her past the room.” 

Cullen sank into his chair. “Yes. Is there a point to this?” 

Celeste glared down at him. The red light sliced across her profile, making her look far more intimidating than someone with her delicate features should have. But Cullen felt no fear. He felt numb.    


“You owe me,” she said. “You lied to me and you used me.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you want, Celeste? What can I possibly give you?”

“Samson.” 

Her expression faltered, the intimidating facade dropped and she shifted so that she was no longer folding her arms and glaring down at him, but rather hugging herself and looking at him plaintively from beneath her lashes. In this light it was impossible to tell if she was blushing, but he wouldn’t have been surprised. 

“Of course. I’ll have him bound and delivered to your quarters at once. Is that all?” 

“No- that’s not-” She was most certainly blushing now, he could hear it in her voice. She drew a breath, then said in a steadier tone, “That’s not what I meant. I want you to give him a chance. He’s wasted down in those cells. He could be useful.” 

“Celeste, you seem to forget that a little over two months ago he was trying to destroy the world.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“He was using people to grow lyrium, were you aware of that? Sewing it in them like seeds in pasture.” 

She swallowed. “He was corrupted.”

“I’d say.”

“He’s different now. He wants to be good. Our experiments, the ones you disapproved of? He engaged in them  _ willingly _ . He wanted to help us find a cure for the Blight, even if it cost his life.”

Cullen couldn’t help but laugh. She looked stricken. “He’s  _ manipulating _ you. He’s found a way to gain your sympathy and now he has you doing his bidding.”

“No, that’s not true.”

“What do you think he intends to do if I grant him his freedom, hmm? Play good little soldier?” Cullen shook his head. “He’ll be on the first ship back to Tevinter where he’ll no doubt rally what’s left of Corypheus’s sympathisers and start our war anew.” 

“He wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t believe in Corypheus. He never did. He wanted to help the… the Templars.” 

“You’re in love with him.”  

She gaped at him.

“It’s written plainly on your face.” 

Her hands flew up to her cheeks and he found it amusing, despite everything, how surprised she seemed. 

But she recovered quickly. “He’s a wasted resource. His sentence was to serve the Inquisition. You’re his handler, but you haven’t seen him in weeks, have you? The interrogators are done with him, Dagna’s collected what she can. He’s rotting away in that cell for no reason-” 

“He’s rotting in that cell because he was Corypheus’s first lieutenant!” 

“But he isn’t anymore. He’s intelligent, T-Templar-trained. You could put him to better use than this. I’m not suggesting you set him free and give him the run of Skyhold. Set a watch on him, if you must, but he’s wasted in there. My feelings - if I did have feelings which I most certainly don’t - would be irrelevant. Solana gave me a second chance-”

“You killed a single man in what amounts to self defence.” 

“-just speak to him, Commander. Please.”

He remembered Celeste as he’d first met her, a wreck terrified of her own power, ready to die. Solana had changed that. Here she stood, as fiery as his wife, strong and confident as any enchanter. 

Wife… could he even still use that term? He looked down at the desk. “I will speak to him. I cannot promise I will release him. But I will speak to him. Although, I have a favour to ask you in return.” 

“You mean besides forgetting how you used me?”

He met her gaze. Her smirk melted away. 

“Keep an eye on Solana for me?”

“I won’t spy on her.” 

“That’s not what I mean.” Was it possible she didn’t know yet? He looked at his hands, realising he was still wearing her ring. The sight of it  _ hurt. _ He gritted his teeth. “Solana and I are no longer... together. But I would see her happy, despite everything. I know most people at Skyhold are… well, you’re the only one she has now. I don’t want her to be alone.” 

Why was every word so painful?  He was aware of Celeste staring at him. 

“You left her?” 

“She left me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the whole Revka Amell thing is a personal theory of mine. It's based on finding the Amell shield in the chest in the secret lair and on all the comments about Hawke's mum having the same face. The info on Warden Amell's father is very sketchy, even in the World of Thedas books. IMO what is there could easily be made up to try hide the fact that the father was a mage, and the father being a mage would explain all Revka's mage children. At this stage they've all been caught and thrown into different circles. The father ended up in Starkhaven. He knew Orsino though from back in Kirkwall. Who knows, maybe Leandra met Hawke through him? But as I said, just a theory :)


	6. History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it's a bit of a long one! 
> 
> There's a companion drabble (100-word story) to this flashback bit here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12448347

_ ELEVEN YEARS AGO _

 

The water was so cold it numbed Solana’s fingers, but the break in rain meant a rare chance to do washing. So, she ignored her discomfort, scrubbing and wringing and trying not to think about what manner of dirt was spreading out from her old Circle robes, tainting the calm water in shades of brown and red.

“Solana?” Alistair had been silent since they'd settled on the bank, and she’d assumed him as absorbed in his work as she, but when she looked up she found him staring at the block of soap in his hands.

“What’s the matter?”

He’d been quiet since Kinloch, but she’d thought nothing of it. The experience in the Fade had left them all unsettled.

He swallowed. "That templar...”

Cullen. He must have meant Cullen. Her heart clenched.

“That templar and you… did you have a... sorry, I shouldn't ask."

"Did we have a what?" 

His amber eyes met hers again, his cheeks coloured. "Well, you know..."

"And you know that sort of thing isn't permitted. You trained as a Templar."

"Yes, sorry."

She hadn’t meant to snap. Her chest still ached with the memory. Cullen in the cage, curled up and praying. Cullen in the entrance hall, hating her.

Alistair studied her. “I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just… the way you ran to him. I thought perhaps he was a friend.”

They’d rounded the corner and she’d seen Cullen there, gaunt and muttering like a madman. A lone survivor. All thoughts of caution had left her with her breath. She’d flown to his side, fallen on her knees before his magical prison.

And he had admitted, from the very edge of sanity, his feelings for her. Finally. But to hear it like that... Even now bitter bile rose in her throat at the thought of it.

_ A mage of all things. _

Solana scrubbed the shirt, channeling the ache into something productive. “Templars don’t have mage friends,” she reminded Alistair.

“No, I suppose not.”

She jerked when he touched her arm. His hands were as warm as hers were cold. He was always warm, as if blazing with inner flame.

“You can tell me, you know? It’s not like I’m going to report you.” A hesitant smile. “We’ll talk really quietly so Wynne doesn’t hear.”

Solana found herself return the smile. “Was it really that obvious?”

“It was obvious that you cared about him, yes. I… eh… I’m being nosy. I know I am. You’re allowed to say.”

“You’re being nosy,” she obliged, but she kept the smile in place. “And I appreciate that you care.”

“You do?”

“You’re a good friend.”

He scratched behind his ear. “Ah, friend, yes.”

And as a good friend, she supposed she owed him the truth. He’d told her his secrets, hadn’t he?

She massaged her temples, trying to find the words. “There was never anything between Cullen and me. But… if circumstances had been different, I would have liked there to have been.”

There, the words were out. She’d said them aloud for the first time ever. Heat crept up from her belly. She couldn’t meet Alistair’s eyes.

“It was foolish. We hardly knew each other, after all. We weren’t allowed to _ socialise _ . He watched me and I… watched him. He wasn’t like what you saw. He was kind and gentle and… we’d share looks, looks that said what we’d never be able to say… that sounds pathetic, doesn’t it?”

“No, it doesn’t.” Alistair’s voice was soft. 

His hand was still on her arm. It gave her the courage to continue. “When Gregor first said that his Templars were locked in with the abominations, Cullen was all I could think of. Every time we passed a….” she pressed her eyes closed as she forced the word out, “ _body_ , I had to check that it wasn’t him.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“What was there to say? We were surrounded by so much horror. There were so many faces I should have been checking for, so many faces that I should have dreaded seeing as much as his. But when we uncovered their bodies, I was  _ relieved. _ And I hated... hated myself. How could I be relieved to see my fellow mages like that? People I’d grown up with, people I’d shared  _ everything  _ with?”

“You loved him.” It wasn’t a question. Alistair squeezed her arm and now his gaze was steady. He’d found the answer to what he’d really been asking.

“I…” She couldn’t quite admit it. “It doesn’t matter. He hates me. And I’m a Grey Warden. And we have a duty.”

“Yes, that saving the world thing,” Alistair said.

“Someone’s got to.”

That night she didn’t dream of darkspawn, she dreamt of Cullen in the centre of a circle of fire, screaming her name.  

 

* * *

 

 

_ PRESENT DAY _

 

A loose shingle came free beneath Celeste’s right boot and skittered down, thwacking against the Herald’s Rest’s sign on its journey down to the courtyard. 

“When Cole said I’d find you up here, I thought he was joking,” she said. She dug her nails into the roof, her stomach twisting. She hadn’t thought herself afraid of heights before, but she’d never had the opportunity to test the theory. 

Solana was nothing but a hunched shadow against the darkening sky. Celeste made out the shape of a bottle in her hand. Solana raised it to her lips, but said nothing. 

Celeste swallowed her fear and shimmied further up. “Of course, Cole doesn’t joke.” 

Solana didn’t respond. Lightning cut across the night, far off enough that it took a moment to hear the accompanying thunder, but close enough that it lit Solana’s features. She was staring straight ahead. 

“I thought I’d find you in the Grove,” Celeste said, finally reaching Solana. 

“There’s a storm coming,” Solana's voice was flat, heavy. 

“Well this is certainly the place to be if getting hit by lightning is your aim.” 

“It’s not.” Her focus stayed on the bottle in her hand.

“Well I suppose the top of the mage tower would be slightly more effective,” Celeste agreed.

“No. I’m not…” Solana drew a deep breath, her entire form shifting. “Getting hit by lightning is not my aim. And I’m not planning to throw myself dramatically from the top of the tavern either, before you ask.” 

“I wasn’t going to ask. I was going to ask why you’re drinking. Where’s Alise?” 

Now Solana looked at her, another flash of lightning highlighting an amused quirk of her mouth. She passed the bottle to Celeste. Celeste sniffed it. It smelled like lavender. Intrigued, she checked the label. 

“Lavender and rosehip cordial.” 

“Apparently it’s popular in Orlais.”

Celeste took a swig and immediately regretted it. The overpowering sweetness of honey surged down her throat, leaving her mouth feeling like she’d taken a bite out of a bouquet. She thrust it back into Solana’s hand. “What in the Void is wrong with Orlesians?” 

Solana chuckled. “You sound like Cullen.”

His name hung in the air. Rain began to patter down around them, in the large globules so common at this time of year. Solana sighed, her breath shaking on the exhale. 

“Solana… you know that I had no idea what he was planning today?” Celeste asked softly. 

“I know.”

“He told me to take you to Samson. I thought the request was odd, but I thought maybe he honestly wanted to see if you regretted… things.”

“Celeste, I know. I know you wouldn’t. I’m sorry for how I acted. Everything’s been so…” Her head fell forward and her shoulders trembled. She was crying. 

Celeste reached for her shoulder, not sure what else to do. For a while they stayed that way. Solana crying, Celeste’s hand on her shoulder. The rain fell more heavily, soaking through Celeste’s clothing, but she dared not move. 

“My father killed Hawke’s mother,” Solana said at length, in voice so small that Celeste could hardly hear it over the sound of the pattering rain. 

She thought she must have misheard, it made no sense in the context of everything else. Solana sniffed and brushed aside some of the hair that fell in a wet curtain around her face. “My father was a murderer, a serial killer. He hunted women for their body parts.” 

Celeste shifted closer. “Where’s this coming from?” 

“Hawke.” She sniffed again. “He thinks I’m the same.” 

Horror, anger and revulsion warred for dominance in Celeste’s stomach.  _ Why would he say such a thing? No matter how angry he was. _ “You’re not.” 

“What if I am? What if I’m just one bad spell, one bad decision away from that darkness? The ritual I did with Morrigan…” She hiccoughed. 

“You’re  _ not _ ,” Celeste insisted. 

“I just keep hurting people.”

“Not intentionally!” Celeste wrapped both arms around Solana and pulled her close, holding her as she sobbed. “Solana, you’ve saved more people than you’ve hurt. You saved Alise. You saved  _ me _ . You saved-”

“-Ferelden, I know.”

“And all those people in your stories.” 

Solana sobbed harder, her whole body shaking. “There’s so much blood on my hands. They never talk about the blood.”

“The likes of Loghain Mac Tir you mean?”

“And Jowan.”

Jowan? Celeste had known him at the Circle, although not very well. He’d been quite a few years older than her, so she’d only really seen him at a few clandestine meetings. But she knew the story of how he’d tried to escape with the Chantry sister, and used blood magic to do so. Solana had betrayed him to the Templars, the stories said. Perhaps that’s what she meant. 

She brushed the wet hair from Solana’s eyes. “You’re not a murderer. You’re a soldier. I know you, Solana. You’d never let a good person die if you could save them. And forget about what Hawke said. It doesn’t matter who your father is. Ren’s father… well you know what he was. But my Ren? He’s the sweetest, kindest boy you could imagine. You’ll see when you meet him. Now, let’s get you home and dry, alright?”

Solana swallowed. “I don’t live-”

“-I know.”

Solana stiffened in Celeste’s arms. “You’ve spoken to him?”

Celeste weighed up lying, but decided against it. “Yes.”

“How… how was he?”

“He seemed... tired. He was concerned about you.”

Solana laughed darkly. “Of course he was. He’s Cullen. If you… if you see him again, can you tell him that it’s not because of what he said?”

“You should tell him yourself.” 

“If I talk to him, we’ll just end up fighting. Or dancing around each other.”

 

They managed, somehow, to get down from the tavern roof without slipping on the wet tiles. By the time they reached the servants’ quarters, Solana was trembling violently and Celeste’s own clothing was heavy enough to weigh her down. 

“I’ll be across the hall,” Celeste said, depositing Solana at the door to her new quarters. 

But Solana stared at her with big green eyes, looking lost and broken. Celeste leaned past her and opened the door. 

The room beyond was blissfully warm. Natalia had lit a fire and closed the windows. She was sitting on one of the beds, holding Alise at her shoulder.

Celeste knew Natalia. She was the oldest of the scullery maids, finding work with the Inquisition after her husband passed and her children had been married off. She’d often told Celeste that she liked the excitement of being in the “thick of things”, despite how her knees protested at the more menial tasks assigned to her.  

Her eyes crinkled when she smiled in greeting. “Ah! You’re back. She’s beginning to get fidgety.”

Solana crossed the room and scooped Alise into her arms. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be gone so long.” 

“You’re wet through,” Natalia rose and began fussing over Solana, who protested weakly. 

Celeste backed towards the door, aiming to make a subtle exit. She narrowly avoided backing straight into Josephine Montilyet, a sharp intake of breath her only warning as the woman entered the room. 

“Forgive the intrusion, my lady. May I have a word?” 

Celeste blinked at her. Solana and Natalia both froze. Alise gave a little whimper, pawing at Solana’s chest for nourishment. 

“Who are you speaking to?” Solana asked. She seemed genuinely confused. 

Josephine laughed softly. “I apologise, I’m not certain how to address you considering…”

Solana quirked an eyebrow, “Don’t tell me you would have gone with Mrs Rutherford?”

The ambassador blushed. “Solana, then. May I have a private word?” 

“Can it wait until morning? I need to feed her.” 

“Please, it will only take a moment.” 

To Celeste’s surprise, Solana looked to her. She shrugged. 

Alise gave another impatient wail. 

“Fine,” Solana said, “but I’m feeding her in your office.” 

Celeste waited with Natalia, too anxious to leave. She knew Solana too well. Her easy humour was a front. She was worried that Josephine would lecture her, tell her how making such a display of leaving Cullen would somehow affect the Inquisition’s reputation. How would Solana react to that, after everything else that had happened that day? 

But it turned out she needn’t have worried. Solana returned a few minutes later with a small amused smile on her face. 

“Apparently it will not do to have the Hero of Ferelden living like a servant,” she told Celeste, quietly enough so that Natalia wouldn’t hear. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Her hair had dried into frizzy waves that bounced with the motion.

“Where does she want you to go?”

“She’s prepared a guest suite for me. Along with a cradle for Alise.” Solana sighed, gaze dropping to her daughter, bundled in her arms and chewing on her fist. “I would refuse, but she’s not a particularly good sleeper. I don’t want to keep everyone up.”

The current room slept four, the other two women must have been on dinner duty. Plus, the room didn’t have much in the way of facilities for a baby. Each bed had a trunk at the foot for personal items, and there was a single vanity against the one wall with a mirror. It was reminiscent of the apprentice quarters at the Circle, sans bunk beds. Celeste knew Solana was used to much less, but now she had Alise, sleeping in a tent or up in a hay loft wasn’t really an option. 

“Where are your things?” Celeste asked. “I’ll help you carry them up.”

 

* * *

 

 

_ Smoke drifted across the floor of the tavern, curling around Celeste’s feet.  _

_ “Enchanters, the time has come to be alive…” Maryden’s sweet voice carried over the noise.  _

_ The tavern was busy and hot. People crowded together, trading jokes and stories, so close that Celeste could hardly move through them. Celeste knew she was looking for someone, but not who. Above her, the green sky of the Fade glimmered. It didn’t seem out of place. _

_ “Celeste!” A familiar voice called. In her heart, she knew it to be Solana’s. “Celeste! Come join me!” _

_ Celeste stood on her toes, trying to see the tables along the edge of the room, but thick fog obscured them. She shouldered her way between two large men. _

_ “What we plea will be faithful end decree…” Maryden sang. _

_ “Celeste, over here!”  _

_ A shadow moved in the smoke, darkness against the bright of the tavern. There were no features, only a blurred silhouette.  _

_ “Come join me,” the shadow said.  _

_ “Enchanters! A time has come for battle lines...” Maryden sang.  _

_ Both voices were twisted together and no longer sweet. Celeste paused.  _

_ “You’re powerful, Celeste, you know it to be true,” the shadow said. It no longer had Solana’s voice. It no longer really had a voice at all. It was distorted, like a whisper.  _

_ “Go away, demon,” Celeste said the practised words.  _

_ “I am no demon,” the shadow said. “I do not wish to take your power from you, I want you to use it, for good.” _

_ Celeste shook her head. All other sound in the room had faded away. It was still filled with people, but they moved in silence.  _

_ “The mages need you, Celeste,” the shadow whispered. “Your fellow mages need you. I have seen your power. More power than the Hero of Ferelden. You know it to be true.”  _

_ “We will cut these knotted ties, and some may live and some may die…” Maryden sang.  _

_ “Why do you waste your powers as a kitchen girl?” the shadow asked.  _

_ Celeste gritted her teeth and tried to force herself to wake up. “I will not listen to you, demon.”  _

_ “Enchanter, come to me. Enchanter, come to me…” Maryden’s voice seemed to come from the shadow.  _

_ “I’m not an enchanter!” Celeste shouted.  _

_ The shadow started drifting towards her. It didn’t become clearer as it neared. Its edges remained fuzzy, as if it was made from smoke. “According to whom? The Circle?” _

_ She backed away, stumbling over Maryden’s empty stool. “Leave me alone!” _

_ “Do not be afraid, Celeste. I mean you no harm.” _

_ Celeste reached inside her, reached for her power. “I said, leave me alone!” She struck outwards. Energy speared from her fingertips, tearing through the tavern and shredding the tables, the walls, the ghostly people.  _

_ Her final impression before she jerked awake was of the shadow slowly retreating.  _

 

* * *

 

 

Samson wasn’t sure what woke him. There was no particular sound, but something was out of place. Something in the air around his cell. Something…

He opened his eyes to find Commander Cullen Rutherford standing over him. His features were shrouded in darkness.

A lump formed in Samson’s throat, but he managed to swallow it down, to lift his head with dignity he did not feel. “ Rutherford, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

He was glad his voice sounded steadier than he felt. Cullen hadn’t visited him once during his internment, aside from the interrogations he’d overseen. Samson had known this day was coming, had been dreading it. A confrontation, at last. 

His heart clenched as Cullen moved towards the opening where the first rays of light were seeping in. Unease crawled up his spine. 

If today was to be the day of his reckoning, did Cullen have to draw it out? 

“Why did you join Corypheus?” he asked, hands behind his back like one of those Chantry tutors they’d had at the monastery.

“I told your interrogators everything I know already, I swear it.”  _ Andraste’s tits, _ did he have to sound so pathetic? 

Cullen turned. Even with the weak sunlight on his face, the area around his eyes remained dark. He clearly hadn’t slept in days. Samson didn’t much like the look. It gave him the appearance of someone willing to do  _ things _ . Things to turn a stomach.  

“You’ve got nothing left to lose, Samson,” he said. “We may as well speak honestly. What were you looking for? Power? Glory? Why did you join him?”

Samson wanted to give a snide remark, but none came to him. Much as he hated to admit it, Cullen had him rattled. Besides, what was the point in bravado now? The man was right. He didn’t have anything left, much less pride.

The truth, then.

“Glory in some respect, I suppose. Mostly hunger.”

“Hunger?” He sounded incredulous.

“Yeah,  _ hunger _ . Hunger for purpose, hunger for lyrium, hunger for  _ food _ . Hunger. Kirkwall after you left.... shit, Rutherford. I hadn't eaten in five days. I was lurking in the Hanged Man hoping someone would take pity on me. Someone did.”

“Corypheus?”

He nodded and dropped his gaze. “I'm… I’m not proud of it. He gave me lyrium, a warm meal and he promised me a future where no one would suffer at the hands of the Chantry as I had.”

“Other than being turned into red lyrium monstrosities you mean?”

“They were always doomed to die,” he answered, but his words came out small and compressed, delivered to his lap.

“I didn’t hear that,” Cullen said.

Samson forced his eyes to meet the commander's once more. "They were doomed to die anyways. You and I both know that. Lyrium madness either way. At least… at least they'd go down fighting. They'd go down making a difference to this blighted world."

"Some difference."

"Yeah, I know."

"You admit he was wrong?" 

Samson chuckled.  "What? You're surprised? You think I actually believed any of his great Tevinter bullshit?"

Had he? He didn’t truly know himself. It had certainly been appealing thinking of a new power that wasn’t the Chantry, but Samson hadn’t allowed himself to think on it too much. It was like that time he’d discovered a nest of beatles under one of the paving stones in the Gallows courtyard. Ugly little things, especially in that number, all crawling over each other. And as long as he didn’t think about them, he could stop feeling like they were crawling under his skin. 

"You were his right hand, a few moments from becoming his Vessel when we stopped you,” Cullen insisted. “You were willing to give your life for him." 

"Wrong. I was willing to give my life for a new world. He was the means. And... he recognised me as someone worthy to help. Which is more than the Chantry ever did. I know you will never believe me, Rutherford, and I don't blame you. But that's the truth." _ The truth.  _ It felt true, as it reverberated through his chest. Regardless of consequence, it was honest. He found himself staring at his hands, where red lyrium had once grown beneath his nails. "At the time, I thought the ends justified the means."

"And now?"

"What does it matter? What's done is done."

Rutherford was at the bars again, his dark eyes glaring down. "It matters because Celeste wants me to release you."

_ Celeste _ . His heart kicked, stomach tightening with surprise and… maybe something else.  "Release me?"

"She says you've changed and you're a wasted resource. She believes you could help the Inquisition."

"She does, does she?" There was no hiding the smile that tugged at his lips. "And what do you believe, Rutherford?"

"I believe you're dangerous. I've seen what you're capable of."

"But then you seem to like dangerous things.”  _ Her green eyes glowing in the light from her spell, the smell of lyrium, hunger like he’d never known, his skin being stretched, ripped… the cold solace of death _ . “How's the missus?" 

Cullen scowled, showing his teeth, an expression completely at odds with his usual cultured demeanor. 

"That good? Forget I said anything. Look, Rutherford, if you're wanting me to plead my case, I'm afraid you're gonna be disappointed. I know what I did. I know what I deserve. Besides, that ambassador of yours? She'll have your head." He laughed. "Imagine her trying to explain that one away." 

Cullen reached up towards the bars and Samson flinched despite himself. But he didn’t shake them, or slam them. 

Instead, the soft  _ clink _ of a lock. "What are you doing?" 

It was all Samson could do to stare as the door of the cell swung open. Fear pooled in his belly, with the barrier between them removed, Cullen could do anything. Sunlight glinted off his sword pommel and Samson regretted the quip about his wife. An apology was on his lips, but Cullen stepped aside. 

Samson tried to read his expression, and failed. 

"Don't be mistaken,” Cullen said.  “You're not  _ free _ . I will be watching you and my men have orders to throw you right back in here should you set foot outside of Skyhold. But Celeste is right in one respect. You are a valuable resource and since we're keeping you alive, we might as well make use of your skills. The quartermaster is expecting you. Get kitted up and meet me in my office. Anyone can tell you where it is." 

Relief left Samson in a whoosh of air like a laugh as he got to his feet. “You had your mind made up before you even got here."

"Don't make me change it."

"Yessir." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like the Samson redemption stuff, I've also written a shorter fic in which he falls in love with the Inquisitor (16 chapters, stand alone). It's in a very different style and very NSFW. https://archiveofourown.org/works/10871610
> 
> A lot of this Samson info is taken from the Bioware short story about him, Paper and Steel, which you can read free on the wiki and I highly recommend.


	7. Reborn

“Celeste, dear, you have a visitor.” 

Celeste straightened, tightening the rag around her head that kept her hair out of the food. In addition to the usual breakfast rolls, Ambassador Montilyet had requested a selection of pastries for some visiting Chantry mothers. Hopefully they’d be appreciative. She’d been bent over folding pastry for the last hour, and her back made its displeasure known as she turned towards the doorway. 

She fully expected to see Solana. Even in the fancy guest room, the woman had seemed ill at ease when they’d parted the night before. 

Instead, Raleigh Samson hovered in the shadows just beyond the door. 

He was tall. She must have known that at some stage, but in the mornings she’d been sitting with him, she’d forgotten. He loomed, although the expression on his face was far from threatening.

Her throat constricted, heart skittered. She wiped her hands on a cloth. “I’ll be a minute Marsha.”

The other cook took her place over the pastry without comment.

 

Out in the corridor, Samson ducked his chin and offered her a shaky smile. “I believe I owe you my thanks.” His voice was soft. She would have said he was nervous, were that not so at odds with who he was. 

“I didn’t think it would work.”

“Yeah, well, Rutherford’s always hated a wasted resource.” 

“He told you what I said?” She searched his expression for resentment. 

“Yeah, but don’t worry. If anything, I’m glad you think I could be useful.” His eyes lingered on her face and it was difficult to breathe. Was that all Cullen had told him? She could feel her neck heating. When she said nothing, he continued. “I’m to see the quartermaster, get equipped. You know where I can find him?” 

“Yes, he’s… I’ll take you.” 

“You don’t need to.” 

“It’s no trouble. It’s just down here.” She turned quickly, heading back into the kitchen and out the back door into the courtyard.

 

The air was fresh and fragrant after the previous night’s rains, a welcome respite from the stuffy kitchen. Celeste anticipated some sort of reaction when they moved through the marketplace, but it seemed no one recognised the man she was with as Corypheus’s right hand. How many at Skyhold had seen his face? They’d known him by his red armour, and now he wore nothing but cotton.

A cool breeze teased at the branches, rustling new leaves and pulling wisps of Celeste's hair free. 

_ I probably look a sight. And why do I care? What does it matter. It doesn't matter.   _

She tucked her hair behind her ears as they came to a halt before the barracks.  “Here you are." 

“Much obliged.” Samson's shoulders were hunched and he stared down at his feet. 

“Morris won’t bite,” Celeste teased. The very idea of nervous young quartermaster being threatening was amusing. It was more likely he’d scarper from Samson on sight.

The corners of Samson’s mouth twitched upwards. “Guess this is it.” He shrugged. “I… I’m not really one for speeches and the like. But you’ve been kind to me these last weeks, when no one should’ve been. I s'pose I wanted to say thanks.”

But the way he said it, it sounded like “goodbye”. 

_ Oh. _

It hadn’t occurred to her. She’d have no reason to see him after this. And why should it matter? It was probably for the best. He was  _ Raleigh Samson _ . And Ren would arrive soon, and how would she explain this friendship -  _ or whatever it was _ \- to her son?

“I suppose you’ll be eating in the hall now?” she asked.

“Yeah, I suppose.” He fidgeted, cleared his throat. “W-will you be eating in the hall?”

Her heart leapt. “I…”  _ say something. _ “Yes, I suppose I will.”  

His answering smile made her head feel light. It wasn’t even a particularly handsome smile, but she found herself staring.

“I… I’d better get back,” she gestured over her shoulder.

His smile faltered. “Yeah, of course. Thanks again.”

That unidentifiable heat was back in her belly as she moved away from him. She made it halfway past the tavern before  something made her pause.

“Samson?” She didn’t even know if he was still there.

“Yea?” 

“I… I finish at ten. That’s when I’ll go eat.”

She could hear the grin in his voice when he answered, “Right.” 

It took a good few minutes for the heat in her cheeks to fade, and by the time it did, she was back in the kitchen, bent over pastry once more. 

 

* * *

 

 

It didn’t take long for Samson to realise he was not going to make it to breakfast by ten. The quartermaster spent the better part of an hour tittering and measuring and figuring out what manner of armour was best for him. Cullen hadn’t specified. Samson eyed the plate, recalling better days, but it turned out he was still too weak to bear the weight. In the end, they landed on leathers. 

Leather was better anyways. New like a new start. Stiff as he was.

 

He found Cullen’s office easily enough. The Commander was behind his desk glaring at a lyrium box. He jerked when Samson rapped on the door and pretended to be focused on something else - some book on the Blight he had lying on his desk. 

He spoke to Samson while looking at the book, taking him through the day’s plans until Samson interrupted. “Still tempting is it?” 

Cullen’s eyes widened and he cleared his throat. Did his face pale? It was hard to tell with his pallor. It took him a moment to speak. “It always is.” 

Samson had expected making Cullen feel unsettled to be more satisfying than it was. The man looked positively haunted. 

“Well props to you for managing to stop. Willingly. That’s something, innit? There’s nothing quite like the call of the dust.” 

As sympathetic as he’d meant the words, they didn’t seem to be received that way. Cullen glared at him and gestured sharply at the door. 

 

Meeting Cullen’s men was the closest to public shaming Samson had come since being captured. He wasn’t stripped naked and flogged, but he might well have been by the way the recruits glared at him. Cullen introduced him as Corypheus’s right hand, as someone who had been their enemy and had seen their weaknesses. He was to work on those weaknesses with them. 

Fortunately, Cullen was right. He _did_ know their weaknesses. 

“You’re a fine bunch individually, but you’re not individuals at war. That’s where we - er - the Red Templars always had one up. You all have things to die for back here, right? Pretty ladies, wives, children, a game of diamondback. We never had that. We had singular purpose and that meant that each one of my men was willing to die to protect his neighbour out on the field. If we wanted to down you lot, all we had to do was find the gap in your shields, or find the one man distracted enough to let us through.”

 

Training itself took nearly three hours and Samson was fall-down exhausted by the end of it. It must have been after eleven by the time he made it to the great hall, and as expected there was no one there. 

Celeste wasn’t there the next day either, when he did manage to make it by ten. He sat at the end of one of the long tables, keeping to himself. Now people glared and whispered and pointed at him. _Well, the anonymity had been nice while it’d lasted._ It was little wonder no one came at him with a knife or tried to slip poison into his food. The very last thing he should be worrying about was whether Celeste would join him, but he looked up every time someone entered the hall, regardless.

 

The following day, when there was still no sign of her, he thought perhaps her shifts had changed. That or she was spiteful about being stood up. Or, more likely, she’d changed her mind about wanting to eat with him. And good for her, because the last thing he’d want would be to make her a pariah for spending time with him. 

Still, he found himself wandering down to the kitchens. He reasoned he’d like to hear it straight from her if that was the case, if only so that he could eat in peace without looking up every few moments in hopes of seeing her.

 

The shift seemed the same as when he’d visited before. The girl who’d been helping her spotted Samson in the doorway again. From her open expression, it appeared she still didn’t know who he was. Good. 

“I, um, Celeste?”  _ Mumbling idiot.  _

“Oh, she’s off ill, dear.”

“Ill?” his voice pitched upwards as his chest tightened.

Marsha chuckled. “A cold, dear. She should be back at work come Sunday. Do not fret.”    
  


* * *

 

 

Celeste accepted the cup from Solana. It was warm to the touch, but not hot. The concoction must have cooled on the trip down from her new quarters. A whole pot of the stuff was sitting on a stool near Celeste’s head, and the fragrant steam rising from it smelled like honey. 

“It’s gnot from Orlais, is it? Still havin flashbacks,” Celeste said, hoping Solana could make out the words despite her blocked nose. 

Solana’s smile assured her she could. “It’s as Ferelden as you get. Ginger, honey and elfroot.” 

“Oh good.” Celeste took a tentative sip. It wasn’t half bad. The honey balanced out the bitterness of the roots. “You shouldn be here. I don want Alise to get sick.”

“It’s my fault you’re ill. You were out in the rain because of me.” 

Celeste couldn’t argue. She hoped a sympathetic expression would do the trick. 

Solana reached over her to puff her pillows. “And as for Alise, don’t worry, Natalia seems more than happy to entertain her.” 

Celeste managed to contain her sneeze until Solana had leaned back again, and was grateful for the handkerchief her friend passed her.

She was in the middle of blowing her nose when Solana’s chair screeched back.  There, in the doorway of the room, was Samson. He seemed as startled to see Solana as she was to see him. He clutched a small basket in front of him, like a shield.

He recovered quickly though and offered Solana a small nod. “Mrs Rutherford.” 

Blue light burst from Solana’s palm and hovered there. 

His eyes flicked to it. “Let me guess, your husband failed to inform you of my release?” He held out the basket. “Delivery, from the kitchens.”

“So what? You’re an errand boy now?”

“Something like that.” 

Solana stepped forward tentatively to take the basket in her free hand. She didn't extinguish the spell. 

“I’ll be on my way then,” Samson said. His eyes moved briefly to Celeste, and he gave her a curt nod before melting back into the shadows beyond the door. 

Solana sighed and sank onto her chair, handing Celeste the basket. “Cullen might have said something.” 

“Have you spoken to him at all?” Celeste asked, sinuses blissfully clear for the moment. 

“No. But if Samson’s roaming about the place I was certain to run into him. Who’s to say he’s not going to come seeking revenge?”    


“Oh yes, that business where you killed him.” 

Solana chewed on her lip. Her hands were curled into fists, and her knuckles were white. 

“Relax. I’m sure Cullen’s got people watching ‘im. He wouldn’t put you in danger. You know that.” 

Solana sighed and nodded. “Well, nice of the kitchen to send you a care package. Go on then.” 

Celeste moved the handkerchief covering the top of the basket aside. Two rolls and a sprig of embrium. Warmth flushed up from her stomach, to her chest. She grinned.

Solana frowned at the contents. “Embrium’s good for the chest, but bread isn’t the most substantial meal. I would have expected soup or something.” 

“I like bread,” Celeste said.

 

* * *

 

 

Cullen had been dreading the spymaster’s visit. He’d known it was coming. 

The day Solana left, he’d stayed up at his desk waiting, drinking wine until he stopped tasting it. He’d pictured Leliana entering, planning to drag him from his bed and lecture him, only to find him sitting up waiting for her. He’d push a glass towards her and she’d take a seat and they’d share silence until she started with accusations and he’d be too numb to feel anything. 

That’s not what had transpired. 

He’d woken up at his desk as the first rays of light poured in through the broken roof. Cotton-mouthed, reeking of wine, with a pounding headache, he’d readied himself for morning drills. 

Leliana had not come to him the next night either. But he’d known she would, eventually. 

 

He was going over the latest report from Griffon Wing Keep, when one of Leliana’s messengers finally arrived at his desk. He passed Cullen a parchment that said simply, “Come see me at sunset.”

Ominous. But then, that was very like her. 

Unease chased Cullen up to the tower. The pit of his stomach was cold and sour. At this time of the day, the rookery was empty and heavy with shadows, black against the orange of the failing light. He was half expecting Leliana to melt from one of them with a dagger in hand, but he found her on the balcony looking down at the herb garden. 

She turned at his approach. “I have news.”

“News?” That… was not what he’d expected. 

Nodding, she brushed past him to her desk where she rifled through papers and drew out a piece of parchment. “Grey Wardens. It seems obvious now.” 

“Grey Wardens?” he repeated, mind recalibrating.

She waved the page at him. “Grey Wardens. He’s a Warden. They’ve been leaving for months. It should have been my first thought.” 

Cullen plucked the parchment from her hand and examined it. A list of times in various scripts, and beside them a few jotted notes that made very little sense. 

“What does ‘raven bottle elfroot’ mean?” 

Leliana rolled her eyes. “It means two women with no weapons left Skyhold. I should think that would be obvious.” 

He wasn’t sure if she was joking. 

“And then ‘garden of flowers’?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Jim feeling creative.” Leliana took the page back. “It’s eight children. He’s supposed to list the types of flowers but I suppose he didn’t see them as much of a threat.” She pointed a little way down the page. “See this here?”

Cullen had to squint; the writing was nearly ineligible. “Wagtail quid embrium.”

“That’s right. Single blonde mage. That’s Anders. And he’s alone.” How she came to that conclusion, Cullen couldn’t begin to guess. She snatched another page off her desk and thrust it into his hand. “I was trying to find a record that showed he either took the phylacteries with him or someone brought them after him. Then I realised it made far more sense for him to send them ahead. Less suspicious that way, no?” She smoothed the page she’d given him and pointed at a time code a few hours before the ‘wagtail’. 

This one he could understand a part of at least. “Griffons.” 

“Griffons stand plaidweave quid,” she read out the full entry. “Four Grey Wardens with a cart and a single horse.”

“Plaidweave?” He couldn’t help but ask. 

“It’s a description of the transport. Not armoured, plain, old-fashioned… ugly.”

“That’s not much to go on.”

She sighed, taking the page from him again and placing both on her desk, where she leaned, face covered in shadow. “Which is why I didn’t come to you sooner. Wardens have been leaving Skyhold ever since we defeated Corypheus. That is no secret. But I’ve started digging.” 

“Digging?” He moved closer to her. 

“Digging, Commander. I received word this morning from my agents near Halamshiral. Wardens aren’t just leaving Skyhold. They’re disappearing.”

He sank into an open chair. “Maker, not this again.” 

“There’s more. Solana’s been writing to Weishaupt since Adamant. She’s received no reply. At least none that I’ve seen. And I have been keeping a careful watch on her, as you might well imagine.” 

“Solana’s not involved,” Cullen confirmed. He even managed to keep his voice steady on her name. 

“Oh, I know that.” She became suddenly very busy with her papers and Cullen hoped that might be the extent of their talk of Solana. But Leliana shook her head, “ _ Alistair _ , really?” 

Cullen pulled his back straight. “You heard the entire exchange?” 

“No. But it was loud enough that my agents down the corridor did. Still, I suppose she needed to hear it.”

He didn’t know whether to be more embarrassed or surprised. Was Leliana taking his side?

Before he could find words to respond, she was smiling at him. “She’ll come round. Give her time. She’s always had a hot head.” 

But even if she did come around, what then? Nothing had been the same since Kinloch, and it might never be. Perhaps he needed to accept that. 

 

* * *

 

 

Celeste tossed over onto her side. Her body was hot with fever and all she wanted to do was sleep, but people were talking. It must have been the shift change. Two of the women she roomed with did the evening dinner run. 

“It’s the strangest thing.” 

“That’s definitely what it said?” 

Celeste cracked her eyes open to glare at them. They were standing near the door, oblivious. She recognised the first speaker as a member of the resistance who had also found work and acceptance at Skyhold. 

“Yes, ‘your fellow mages need you’. I swear to the Maker, it was just as you said. Strange shadow with a rasping voice. Knew my name and everything.” 

“Demon?”

“Must be. Gives me the shivers, let me tell you…”

They moved out into the corridor, and with the silence Celeste fell back into her own dreams. 


	8. What's to come

“He’ll be fine,” Solana assured Celeste for the umpteenth time. “No one’s going to attack a merchant caravan bound for the Inquisition. And our soldiers patrol the route.”

Alise gave another impatient squeal, reaching over Solana’s shoulder towards the horses. Solana bounced her, but kept focussed on Celeste. 

The woman paced with her arms folded. Her breath puffed in the cool morning air. Every so often, she’d pause and stare out at the gates, before resuming her march backwards and forwards.

“I know, I know. I have nothing to worry about.” Still, she stared at the portcullis as if she could make it rise by will alone. 

Then, with a great creak and the clatter of chains, it  _ did _ start to rise. Solana examined Celeste’s face, half-convinced she was lifting it with her magic. But, though Celeste’s every muscle was tensed, her attention was not on the rising metal that protected Skyhold’s main gates, but on a caravan that slowly made its way up the steep mountain road. 

When Solana had walked into the kitchen that morning, she’d found the head cook red in the face, yelling at Celeste to pull herself together. Apparently she’d spilled an entire jug of garum all over the floor, shattered several plates and burned half of the day’s bread. When the cook chased them out, they’d come out here to wait. It had still been dark and Solana had fed Alise in the shadows of the barn. Now, an hour later, she was starting to fidget. 

The courtyard had also filled up significantly. 

The crowd that had gathered to greet the merchant caravan whooped and cheered as the first grey mare clopped through the gates. It was several tense minutes before the three passenger carriages at the centre of the caravan ejected their occupants. A small boy stepped down from the furthest. He was lean, with tousled brown hair, a smattering of freckles and Celeste’s keen green eyes. He looked around, brow puckered. Celeste did not seem to notice him amongst the sudden chaos of off-loading - boxes of fruit, reams of fabric, barrels of exotic drink and an assortment of other cargo dominated the courtyard. Solana was about to point Ren out, when someone else stepped down from the carriage beside him. 

Varric.

The dwarf placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and pointed in Solana’s direction. The boy’s face stretched into a broad grin. He waved wildly. Celeste saw him and broke into a sprint. She fell to her knees as she reached him and pulled him into a fierce embrace. 

Varric’s gaze travelled over Solana, resting just behind her. She turned, expecting to see Hawke. But it was Cullen she found standing calmly a few meters back. 

Her insides jerked. The cold air she drew into her lungs wasn’t enough.  _ Cullen. _ She hadn’t seen him at all since she’d left him in their room. He was thinner, paler and his mouth was set in a deep frown. 

Varric passed Solana as if she wasn’t there.“Commander, I didn’t expect to find you waiting for me. Tell me this is a coincidence, or I’m going to have to fire some people.” He offered Cullen his hand. 

"A coincidence?” Solana was unable to stop herself from approaching the duo. 

Varric’s gaze slid to her and his eyes narrowed. “Hero.” The nickname was thick with irony. “How’s the kid?” 

Alise was chewing on her fist, eyes large as silver pieces while she watched the antics of the merchants. 

“She’s well,” Solana said. “Thank you.”

As if on cue, Alise gave a whimper. She wriggled, kicking out her stockinged feet in displeasure, before opening her mouth and wailing.

“She’s easily overwhelmed,” Cullen provided. 

Solana bounced her again, but she only yelled louder. Solana didn’t want to leave, she wanted to find out why Varric was here. She wanted to meet Celeste’s son. But she had little choice when Alise was making that much noise.  “I should… I should take her inside. Sorry.” 

“Yeah, you do that,” Varric said.

 

* * *

  
  


Cullen felt involuntary sympathy for Solana as he watched her head back into the main building, shushing their screaming child. 

Not because she had to deal with Alise. All the noise and activity of the caravan’s arrival was just the sort of thing he would have expected to set her off. Solana was good with her, and he had no doubt that Alise would quieten the instant they entered Skyhold’s dim recesses. 

But he’d never seen Varric being cold. 

Even in Kirkwall, when he’d been a Templar and Varric had spent his free hours drinking with the leader of the mage rebellion. And afterwards, after the bloodshed and Meredith, after Cassandra had recruited Cullen to the Inquisition, when Cullen had been suffering the ravages of withdrawal, it had been Varric who’d coaxed him out of himself, who’d forced him to smile. They’d been on opposite sides of a war, and Cullen had never seen this side of Varric. 

As soon as Solana was out of earshot, Cullen said softly, “You received my letter, I take it?”

Varric snorted. “Yes Curly, I received your letter. And fortunately for you I pay people to ensure no one else did. You have any idea how dangerous that information is? Least you could do is use a cypher. Who else knows about this?” 

“Look, Varric, I hardly expected you to come all this way-”

“Nightingale no doubt, whether you intended her to or not.”

“Yes, she knows. Varric, I merely wanted to ascertain whether you had perhaps heard anything about where-”

“And the Inquisitor, you’ve told him?” Varric slung his pack over his shoulder and began walking towards the stairs to the upper bailey.

“No.” 

Varric gave him a meaningful look. 

“I… meant to tell him. He’s left for the Frostback Basin on an archaeological mission. Cassandra’s in charge.”

“I see.”

“I thought it best not to inform her.” 

Varric chuckled. “Yeah, I can imagine how that would go down. And Hawke?” 

“Yes.”

“You told Hawke?” 

“Of course I told Hawke. If Anders left a clue with anyone I assumed it would be with him.”

“And did he?” 

“No.” 

Varric said nothing until they reached the Herald’s Rest. He turned suddenly at the entrance and in a low voice asked, “How’s he been?”

“Who, Hawke?” 

“No, the guy who mucks the stables.” He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Hawke.”

“Ah…” Cullen wasn’t certain how to answer. He scratched the back of his neck. “I suppose he’s been as one would expect considering the circumstances.”

Varric pushed the door all the way open and strode in.

The tavern was almost empty at this time of morning. Maryden sat on a stool tuning her lute. A single patron slumped at the bar. Cabot was busy drying a glass. Varric strode up to him, and reached for his purse. He paused. 

“Hawke?” 

The drunk at the bar turned on his stool.  _ Maker’s breath _ , it really was Hawke. He hadn’t shaved recently and his hair had grown longer. He had a wild look about him as he stared at them through bleary eyes. “Varric?”    
  


* * *

Samson thwacked at the dummy so hard the thing shuddered and straw flew. His arms were feeling like a pair of jellied eels and it was frustrating. A year ago he’d have been able to march half a day and fight for the rest of it. Now Cullen’s morning training sessions were enough to wear him out. 

“So, they entrusted you with a real sword, then?”

Celeste. He was grinning before he even turned around and saw her leaning against a tree in the shadows near the armory. 

“You’re looking better,” he said, before thinking to wipe away the sweat from his brow. 

A movement near her skirts drew his gaze. A small boy with shaggy brown hair was half hidden behind her and staring with big green eyes. She gently pushed him forward. 

“This is Ser Samson.” 

So, he’d arrived. The boy -  _ her _ boy - continued to stare at him. 

“And you would be Ren, I presume?” Samson strode closer, offering the young man his hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Are you a Templar?” Ren asked. 

The question caught Samson off guard. “I… used to be. How’d you figure that?” 

Ren frowned. “Templars are big. And they carry swords.” His eyes darted to the training dummy, where Samson’s shield leaned. “And they fight with shields.”

“Observant young lad.”

Celeste ruffled his hair. “We taught him to be able to identify Templars from an early age. You can imagine the necessity.”

He was confused only a moment before he remembered. She was an apostate. A maleficar no less. Of course, most of the boy’s life they would have been hiding from people such as he. 

To Ren, Celeste said, “Ser Samson isn’t a Templar anymore. He’s with the Inquisition now.”

Was he? He supposed he was. 

“Did you fight against Corypheus?” Ren asked. 

Samson’s stomach dropped. But Celeste laughed. 

“Uh,” Samson said, “not exactly.” 

He dreaded a follow-up question, but Ren’s attention was on his sword. “Can you teach me how to fight?”

“Ren!” Celeste laughed again. 

“Symon and Antony fight with swords,” he protested. 

Samson raised his eyebrows in silent query. She didn’t have other children she’d failed to mention? 

“Your cousins are older than you,” Celeste said, her gaze meeting Samson’s. 

“I’m ten,” he proclaimed. “Last Fall the Templars came for recruits and they took Steiven and he’s only eight. But his dad let him use a sword when he was five and-”

“-and you’re not going to tell me you want to be a Templar?” Celeste’s voice pitched in genuine concern. 

Ren blushed. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “No.”

“I’m sure I can teach him a few things,” Samson said, although the moment he started speaking he doubted himself. He could see Ren was anxious to learn, but was it overstepping? He didn’t want to upset Celeste. That was the very last thing he wanted.

Ren’s small face lit up and he looked to his mother with such desperate hope that she shook her head and sighed, “We’ll see.” 

Not satisfied to let the subject drop, Ren turned back to Samson. “How old were you when you started training, Ser Samson?” 

Crafty little thing, this one. “Me? I was given to the Chantry, so I’m a poor example.”  

“Given to the Chantry?” His jaw hung open.

“Ren,” Celeste cautioned. “It’s not polite to ask someone you’ve just met so many questions.”

Samson waved off her concern. “Naw, I don’t mind. My parents gave me to the Chantry at the age of five. The Chantry decided I was to become a Templar and my training began.”

“Why’d they give you to the Chantry? Didn’t they like you?” 

Celeste dropped her head forward into her hands. “Ren, please.” 

_ Out of the mouths of babes... _ “No, I suppose they didn’t much like me. I was another mouth to feed, you see. They never meant to have another child, but they made a brave show of it for a few years. Then they hit on financial troubles and, well, I became a Templar.”

“That’s horrible!” Ren was more affected by the story than Samson had expected. He’d always known children to be rather selfish, lacking empathy. But Ren’s large green eyes mimicked his mother’s. They looked at him like he was a person, worthy of sympathy. 

Samson shifted in discomfort, regretting saying as much as he had. “It wasn’t all that bad.” That was a lie. “I don’t even remember them, truth be told.” That was a lie too. He remembered his father’s fists all too well, and the cold first nights in the monastery when he’d known himself to be unwanted, unloved; when the older kids had seen that weakness and tortured it out of him. Still, he managed to force a smile. “Given the choice, though, I would have chosen to run playing over sword drills and the likes. It’s not very exciting. Perhaps you should take some time to enjoy all Skyhold has to offer a boy, hey?”

Ren pouted and nodded, but his eyes stayed locked on Samson’s sword.

 

* * *

 

Hawke leaned back against the wall and tried to ignore the ache in his chest. His chest and his head. His chest and his head and his stomach.  _ Maker. _ Solana had made alcohol seem like a decent coping mechanism back when they’d first met. He’d have words with her… if she ever spoke to him again.

Varric handed him a mug of water across the table. The entire upstairs was theirs, and he’d seen Varric slip Cabot some silver to ensure it stayed that way for the next few hours. 

As usual, Varric’s expression didn’t say much as he settled on the bench opposite. Cullen hovered, arms folded, eyes darting around the room. He couldn’t look more suspect if he tried. 

“Take a seat Curly, you’re making me nervous.” 

Cullen frowned, but did as Varric asked, sliding in next do the dwarf and placing his clasped hands on the table. 

“So this is about Anders, I take it?” Hawke broke the increasingly awkward silence. 

“I missed you too.” Varric smiled. “I see you’re keeping well?”

Hawke rolled his eyes and took a sip of the water. It was marvelously cool, sliding down his throat like silk. He wanted to keep drinking, maybe drink another three mugs of the stuff before crawling into bed and awaiting his hangover. Although, by the feel of his temples, it had already arrived. 

“I doubt you would have brought Cullen along for a social call. No offence, Commander.”

Cullen inclined his head. “None taken.”

“Now the niceties are out of the way…” Varric leaned forward. “You two going to tell me what happened?” 

“How much do you know?” 

“Curly here thought it was a good idea to send a letter informing me that Blondie had taken off, possibly with Ferelden’s phylacteries.”

Cullen growled. “Well forgive me, subterfuge is hardly  _ my  _ area of expertise.”

“I don’t know whether that’s meant as an insult or-”

“Stop.” Hawke held up a hand. The last thing he needed on top of his blinding headache was the two of them getting into it.

Varric drew a breath. “Alright. I apologise. I know this can’t be easy-”

“That’s putting it mildly.” 

“Yeah, look, I know what Blondie meant to you. But I’ll sleep a lot better when we know what he’s doing with those phylacteries. Maybe you can take us through what he was like before he left. Did he say anything?”

“If he’d said anything, I would have told Cullen when he first informed me that it’s Justice we’re dealing with, not Anders.” Hawke kept his tone light, but he couldn’t resist looking at the commander when the words landed. Cullen did not disappoint. He flinched and closed his eyes.

“You failed to mention that in your letter.” Varric said. “How can you be sure?”

“Cullen made Anders give over control.” 

“It was the only way to get to Solana.” His eyes were still pressed shut. 

“Alright, so we’re dealing with a spirit on a rampage again? Oh, that’s perfect, that’s just great.” Varric leaned forward, forearms on the table, bringing his head closer. “Hawke, I need you to think. Did he say anything, anything at all that could indicate what _kind_ of a rampage this is?”

“Varric…” Even thinking hurt. Hawke didn’t want to have this conversation. 

But Varric didn’t stop speaking. “You know, grumbling about the price of silverite? In a mood over the slaves in Tevinter? Anything at all at this point would be helpful.”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Not suddenly upset about how the Carter runs Dark Town?” 

“Yes.”

“Well what  _ did _ he say? Maybe you missed something-” 

“Nothing!” Hawke shot to his feet, all the hurt and bitterness bursting forth like a dam breaking. “He said nothing. Nothing at all. Because I refused to talk to him. Alright? After that room… with the blood... I turned him away. I said I needed space and I needed time. And he gave it to me.” Part of him wanted to leave them there, leave it like that. But where would he storm off to? The room that still smelled like Anders? With the uncaged rage came grief, like a whiplash. He deflated, crumpling into himself and sinking back onto the bench. “I always knew I was the one standing between him and self-destruction. I should have spoken to him. Perhaps I could have-”

He jerked as Varric’s hand landed on his arm. “Hawke-”

Varric's eyes were big and sad and not at all helping Hawke get control of himself. 

“It’s not your fault,” Cullen said, matter-of-factly. “It is mine. We have established as much. And until we know more, there is no saying whether or not you could have stopped him.” 

“Chin up, Hawke. It’s Anders,” Varric said. “It’s not like he’s going to be using the phylacteries for blood magic. Whatever it is, it’s probably something noble. Or at least something he  _ thinks _ is noble.”

“That’s what worries me,” Hawke said softly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are still worried, I am going to keep my promise, I am going to fix everything! :D
> 
> Also I just want to say that I love all of these characters and that you can trust me with them. I can't say more without spoilers.


	9. Shadows fall

_ Celeste was in that alcove again - the cold stone floors, the smell of damp, the darkness. Footsteps echoed towards her. “Little Mage… where are you hiding?”  _

_ She pulled her knees up to her chest and hid her head. Beads of sweat gathered that the nape of her neck.  _

_ His shadow passed the entrance, tall and monstrous, blocking out the light. His armour rattled. Her heart slammed.  _

_ “You can’t hide, Little Mage. Hiding is against the rules. You don’t want me to tell them you broke the rules, do you?” _

_ He paused and she was certain he sensed her. She’d found this alcove behind the books after she’d heard some of the mages talking about it.  _

_ “You know what happens to apprentices who break the rules, don’t you? They simply cannot be Harrowed. It’s too dangerous.” _

_ He knew she was there. He must have known or he would have moved on.  _

_ “Celeste.”  _

_ She jumped at the sound of another voice, another person in the alcove with her. She always hid here alone. There shouldn’t have been anyone else here. _

_ Celeste wanted to tell them to shush. If they didn’t, he would hear. But she was too frightened to speak. Her tongue felt numb and heavy.  _

_ “Celeste,” the whisper in the darkness said. “Come to me, I can help you.” _

_ The Templar turned, his shadow changing direction, showing he was moving back towards the alcove.  _

_ No! He’d heard them! _

_ But the voice spoke again. “Join me and we can make sure the Circles never return. Protect your fellow mages. Come to me.” _

_ Even if she’d wanted to, she couldn’t. She was paralysed by fear.  _

_ “Little Mage…” _

_ “Come to me…” _

_ “Little Mage, I see you…” _

_ “Come to me…” _

_ The Templar stood opposite her, a dark silhouette staring straight at her. As he moved forward, light fell across his face.  _

_ Instead of the face she expected, he bore the face of Raleigh Samson.  _

 

Celeste jerked awake. She heaved in air. Her back was coated in ice cold sweat. 

“Mom?”  Ren’s voice came from the bed next to hers. 

She rolled over and found him propped up on his elbow. The light of the dying fire showed her his sleepy, concerned expression. 

For many years she’d been frightened that he would grow to have  _ his _ face. But Ren’s eyes were hers, and his other features were uniquely his own. 

She smiled at him. “Everything’s fine. Go back to sleep.”    
  


* * *

 

 

It was after midnight and even though the tavern was still bright and loud, the rest of Skyhold was draped in shadow. 

Varric knew _she’d_ still be up, but he thought it was polite to knock anyways. As his knuckles hit the wooden pillar, disturbed ravens took flight, cawing loudly. If Leliana had been asleep she was no longer. 

A shadow near the Chantry altar moved.

“Varric.” He could hear a smile in her voice, even though he couldn’t see her features against the light of the candles. “I heard you arrived with the merchants this morning. Checking up on Hawke?”

“That,” he acknowledged, moving towards her. “And other things. I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

She laughed, a dull sound like brass left unpolished. “Why would you possibly be disturbing me at this hour?” 

“Fair point.” 

She swept past him to her desk where she had a bottle of wine open. She poured some into a mug and handed it to him, keeping the bottle for herself. 

“I’m gone a few weeks and everyone’s become an alcoholic,” he commented, accepting the drink regardless. 

“This?” she tilted the bottle as if to read the label. “Oh, this is for you, Varric. I thought you’d stop by.”  

“Did you now?”

“Rowan's Rose. I seem to recall you were fond of the vintage.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle as he settled onto one of the barrels beside her desk. “And what made you think I’d stop by, Nightingale?” 

The wine brought to mind a night in the Hanged Man trading stories with her, Dorian, Hawke and The Iron Bull. There was probably some meaning in her referencing that night, but it was lost on him. Maybe she really did just think he’d like the wine. 

Her mouth did that thing - twisting up in the corner as if she were amused - while her eyes remained hard. “Anders.”

She didn’t miss a trick. But then neither did he. “I’m assuming you’re the person to speak to on the subject.”

Leliana inclined her head and poured a second mug of wine. “Who told you? Hawke?”

“Curly, actually. He thought I might be able to help.”

She raised her eyebrows. Odd, Varric would have expected her to see the letter before anyone else. “And are you?” she asked. 

“Not as much as he hoped. I tried to tell him what I’ve found earlier but, well… he’s not in a great place right now, is he?”

Leliana shook her head and took a deep drink from her own mug. 

“I heard he and the Hero... no longer a thing?”

The spymistress sighed. “Partly my fault. I offered to discover where her loyalties lay, to set his mind at ease.”

“He suspected her?” 

“Can you blame him? At any rate, he obviously mistook my meaning. Thought I’d torture her or some such.”

“Don’t know where he’d get such a wild notion.”

“Me neither. He tricked her into discovering the broken wards, and then they had it out. I believe he told her she was responsible for Alistair’s death.”

Varric almost choked on his wine. “He what?”

Leliana shrugged. “Not in as many words. But the sentiment was there. She and the baby are in the guest quarters now.”

“Well, shit.”

She sighed again and pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is bad, Varric.”

An unguarded moment, could it be? He reached for the wine and filled up his mug. “Yeah… about that. I take it you know about Justice.”

“That Cullen suspects he’s in control? Yes. Although that was not what I meant.” Her mouth quirked again. “I meant the two of them.”

“Marriages break up all the time. Maybe it’s not meant to be.” 

Leliana shook her head. “No. They need each other.”

“Now, I know they’re your friends but they’re grownups and-”

“Leliana?”

Varric jumped and spun around, almost spilling his drink. There was a ghostly figure at the top of the stairs. A woman with pale skin, pale hair and a white nightdress. Her eyes were covered in shadow and even as Varric’s heart raced, he made mental notes on the scene for a horror he’d been plotting. All that was missing was a bloodied knife in her hand. 

Leliana, for her part, had shot to her feet and now she squinted at the figure, as if she was also trying to determine if they’d been visited by a particularly opaque spirit. 

The woman drifted forward, the moonlight illuminating bare feet - at this time of night, at this time of year. “I was hoping you were up. I’m sorry to disturb you.” She fidgeted, and then she seemed to notice Varric for the first time. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

“I know you,” he said, squinting at her features in the dim light. She was Solana’s friend, the one who’d been helping her with that research, who’d lead them to Samson. “You’re Celeste. Ren’s mum. Something the matter with the boy?” 

The kid had been equal parts nervous and excited on the trip up. He’d only stopped babbling when Varric had agreed to tell him stories. And then he had sat with back straight as a rod and eyes wide, hanging on every word. Good kid. 

Celeste shook her head. “I… I wouldn’t usually come disturb you at this hour, but I wasn’t sure who else to speak to.” 

She wrapped her arms around herself, as if just noticing she was cold. Leliana produced a blanket from somewhere and draped it around her shoulders. “Solana?” she queried. 

Celeste shook her head again. “No… I… dreams.”

“Dreams?”

“I think there’s someone visiting me in my dreams.”

Varric took another sip of his wine. “You’re a mage, aren’t demon dream visits part of the package?”

“This feels different. I… I don’t know how to describe it.” She stared down at her feet. “There’s this presence. It keeps saying the same thing. ‘Come to me, join me.’ Demons don’t do that. Demons try to trick you. They don’t  _ summon _ you.”

Varric leaned forward. His heart pounded in his ears again. “It’s _summoning_ you?”

She nodded, chewing on her lower lip. “I would think nothing of it, except... I don’t think I’m the only one. After the first dream, I overheard some of the other mages talking. That was strange enough, but tonight… it returned to me. It kept saying how I had a duty to protect the mages. I think it’s planning something, I think-”

“Shit!” Varric slammed down his mug and Celeste jumped. To Leliana, he said. “So you know that thing that I found out that I was going to tell Cullen but didn’t?”

Leliana folded her arms. “Let me guess, mages having dreams.”

“Mages  _ disappearing _ , actually. But this is as good an explanation as any. Think about it, what can you use a phylactery for?”

“A phylactery?” Celeste asked. 

Leliana ignored her. “Finding a mage, controlling a mage…”

“Controlling, yeah, but only because you have a  _ link _ with the mage. I think we’ve discovered why Blondie didn’t break the damned things. He’s using them to chat to possible allies.”

“Blondie?” Celeste repeated. 

“What precisely did this… presence… say to you, Celeste?” Leliana asked. 

“Come to me, protect the mages, stop the Circles, use your powers for good… a combination of those sentiments.”

Varric hit the table again. That was Blondie alright. 

“Did you see what this figure looked like?” 

Celeste shook her head again. “No, always in shadows or in the form of a shadow. At… at one stage I thought it was Solana. But that’s not possible, is it? She wouldn’t be involved in something like this? No. She wouldn’t. I know she wouldn’t.” 

“And I believe it’s thanks to you that we know that too.” Leliana said. She smirked, despite everything. 

Celeste’s already wide eyes stretched and she seemed to come to some kind of realization. “Phylacteries. That’s what was in the room. That’s what Solana was supposed to protect. How many? Whose? Who took them?”

“Calm down, Spooky.” The nickname rolled off Varric’s tongue automatically. “Take a seat.”

Celeste blanched, which made the name even more appropriate, but she settled down on the barrel beside his. 

Leliana sat too, her fingers steepled, eyes downcast. He was a little frightened of what that might mean.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a bad idea to be walking around so late at night. Samson knew that. He’d learned as much in Kirkwall where he’d become prey more than once. But there was something about Skyhold that made one feel safe. Even one such as he.

The breeze that cut across the courtyard and stung his cheeks was cold, but welcome. It meant freedom.

He’d been assigned quarters, but they were small and cramped and not much different from his cell. Plus, he was sharing with two unimpressed gentlemen who he suspected were one step away from being discharged. 

It was the lodgings one got when one was no longer welcome in the barracks, but they wanted you close enough to keep an eye on you.  He would have preferred a tent - peaceful nights alone beneath the stars - but he understood Rutherford’s reasoning. He wouldn’t trust him either. 

So he’d stepped out for some fresh air, and now he realised his mistake. He’d wandered down to the stables, taking pleasure in solitude he should have been wary of. It was only when he heard a rustle from near the deserted marketplace that the familiar tension settled between his shoulders. 

He told himself he was being stupid. Of course he was being followed. Rutherford had said as much, hadn’t he? He’d warned him he’d be watched. Only, he’d never spotted anyone before. He scanned the dark stalls. Was that armour glinting beneath one of the awnings? He laughed at himself when he remembered that shop sold weapons and shields.  

Still, best head back. 

He made for the stairs he knew led up to the kitchens. That in itself was risky; it wouldn’t do to be caught poking around the kitchens late at night either. But compared with the thought of walking back past those stalls-

Something slammed into the base of his skull. Old instincts took over. He jabbed backwards with his elbow, even as his head spun. But whoever his assailant was, they sidestepped, yanking him around to drive a gauntleted fist into his chin. He stumbled backwards, hitting into another armoured body. 

Metal-clad hands clamped his arms behind him and he could see his first assailant. Square jaw, tousled black hair, a sneer to rival the worst of the Carter. Samson’s practised eyes took in possible weaknesses. The man wasn’t wearing a helmet, although the rest of him was in full Inquisition armour. He had a sword at his side. Bad sign. He wouldn’t have brought something sharp along if he didn’t plan to use it. 

But he didn’t go for his sword. He took three steps forward, then, eyes meeting Samson’s, he lifted his leg and kneed him in the groin. 

The world exploded into stars, white-hot pain wiped every thought from Samson’s mind. He reached for the part of him that clung to survival, that scrabbled for it like a sewer rat, but it had dissolved. His knees gave in as another fist pounded into his face. 

“This is for Zaben.”  _ Smack _ . “This is for Reisad.”  _ Smack. _ “This is for Dorvol.”  _ Smack _ . “And this is for Methra”.  _ Crack. _

The impact sent Samson’s head back into the man behind him. Fresh pain blossomed from his nose. His entire face was on fire. And there was blood - he tasted iron as it leaked into his mouth - wet against his face. 

The assailant looked down at him. “Commander Cullen thinks you can be redeemed. He’s wrong. No one comes back from what you did. No one deserves to.” 

Another knee, this time to his stomach. Samson crumpled forward, choking, as the man behind him let go. And then his face was being pushed forward into the dirt. He heard the unmistakable sound of steel being drawn. 

This was how he would die. Finally, after everything. He closed his eyes and whimpered. 

“So this is what the great General Samson comes to, eh?” The man who’d been holding his arms kicked him in the side. “Pathetic.” 

“There’s nothing great about him. Look at him. He’s not a fighter. Nothing more than Corypheus’s dog, ordering others to die.” 

Samson opened his mouth to protest, but how could he? 

_ Maddox, Maddox standing in the Temple of Dumat. Go. We will slow them. The air already thick with smoke, the Inquisition less than ten minutes away. A decision, and no time in which to make it. Go, Maddox said. And it was go or face Corypheus’s wrath. Go, let them die, or stay and risk the Inquisition finding the armour, capturing him, torturing him for secrets. So he went.  _

Another kick to his side brought him back to himself. “You got nothing to say for yourself, dog?”

A pool of blood was spreading out from where his cheek was mushed into the ground. It was thick and black in the dim light, like corruption. “If ya gonna kill me, get it over with,” he said. 

He was tired, tired of this world, tired of pain. 

But the man grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and yanked him to his feet. “Oh, I’m going to kill you.” His face was inches from Samson’s. “And then I’m going to have my way with that pretty girl of yours.”

“I have no girl,” he said, the words thick with blood. 

“You sure about that? Kitchen wench, blonde hair, likes conjugal visits…” 

_ Celeste. _ His stomach turned to ice.  _ Maker, no… _

“Jang…” the other cautioned. 

Samson had to force the words out. “She’s not my girl. Never will be. You are mistaken.” 

‘But you care for her,” the man laughed hollowly. “You care for her like I cared for Methra, and that’s enough.”

He pushed Samson backwards, and Samson struggled to breathe. His knees knocked into something, and then he was pushed back further and further. The smell of mildew and algae. He was hanging over the old well. 

“How long do you think it will take you to die down there?” the man whispered. “I hear drowning’s a terrible way to go. But maybe the water isn’t deep enough, maybe you’ll starve.” 

He didn’t care, the threats were meaningless. There was only one thing on his mind. Celeste. He couldn’t let them touch her, not because of him. The one bright thing in his putrid existence, the one shining moment of happiness in a dull and miserable life. No. They would not hurt her. 

He went limp and whimpered again. A dog playing dead. The man laughed and readjusted his grip, probably with the intention of pushing Samson down the well. But this dog could bite. With every bit of strength left in him, he launched himself to the side. The man’s grip slipped and Samson barreled in the direction of the market. 

He only needed to get to one of the stalls, grab a weapon. The other man cried out, making a grab for him, but he managed to evade. 

He fell upon the weapon rack. Empty! And the table too. His breath came in rapid gasps. He ducked just in time to avoid another blow to the head from ‘Jang’. He grabbed the man by the calves and tugged. He fell backwards in a clatter of armour. Samson scuttled back under the table.  _ Something _ , there had to be  _ something  _ he could use to defend himself. He tried to ignore the pain in his ribs and face. 

An old practice dummy lay on its side, pressed between the weapon rack and the stone wall of the fortress. It wasn’t much but- 

“Get out here, you mongrel!” Jang’s sword pierced down through one of the slats in the table, narrowly missing Samson’s head. He shimmied backwards, just as it came through again where he had been a moment ago. He dived for the dummy, yanking out a handful of rusty arrows. They’d have to do. Jang came towards him, yelling as he slashed the air with his sword. His movements were erratic. Rutherford would be ashamed. Samson thrust the dummy in front of him. Hay and lambswool flew as Jang slashed open its stomach. As he brought his sword down, Samson shoved off the wall, lurched forward and thrust up. He closed his eyes as the rusty arrows plunged up, right through Jung’s chin. 

Jung screamed, careening backwards, buying Samson time to get free of the stall, to run back towards the main gates. 

But the other man snagged him, slammed him against the frame of another stall. He drove his fist into Samson’s side again, and Samson heard his ribs crack as he yelped. The strength this man had, he could only be a Templar. He too had foregone a helmet. His bright blue eyes shone in the night. 

“What you did to the Order is unforgivable,” he said. “And you will die for it.” 

His fingers closed around Samson’s throat and he lifted him off the ground so his feet were dangling. Jang was still screaming behind them, clattering from side to side, trying to get the arrows free. Samson couldn’t breathe, and though he struggled, though he wriggled and kicked, this man was far too strong. Darkness closed in from the sides of his vision. 

Would  _ he _ hurt Celeste when Samson was gone?

“Please,” Samson rasped. He didn’t want mercy for himself, but for her. If only he could get the words out, if only he could find enough air to tell this man he had nothing to do with her. 

The man smiled wickedly.

And then his face exploded. 

Samson fell to the ground, the impact sending a shock up from his knees. He clasped at his throat, choking, heaving. He knew better than to relax until he found the source of this unexpected development. He scanned the shadows. 

Up on the battlements, a figure with a bow. Lithe, probably elven.  _ Who? _

“Ser Samson!” This voice not from the elf, but from the stairs. Another shadowy figure was rushing down, towards him. “Samson, are you alright?” 

Who was this man? Samson didn’t recognise him. He was young and thin, from Highever by the sounds of it. He fell to his haunches beside Samson. Air whistled through his teeth. “Ay, they really got you good, didn’t they?”

“Who are you?” 

“Your saviours clearly. We’re supposed to be watching you, making sure you don’ get up to mischief. Shouldn’t have given us the slip, should ya?”

“Given you the…” He was still struggling to breathe, let alone think. Cullen’s men. The ones he’d said would be watching. “It wasn’t my intention.”

“Yeah, yeah. Well, lesson learned? Let’s get you to the healer.”


	10. Knotted ties

Leliana made a humming sound. It was the first she’d made in what felt like ages. Celeste had almost nodded off to sleep waiting for her to say something. Varric had pulled out a quill and started jotting notes on a scrap of parchment. 

Leliana rose and tapped her lower lip. “When I determined that our friend had help from the Grey Wardens, I sent people out to do some checking.”

Varric set down his quill. “You’re not serious? Wardens? Really? Andraste’s ass.”

Celeste wanted to ask who their friend was, but chose to keep quiet. 

Leliana pulled a sheet of parchment out from a pile on her desk and handed it to Varric. There was an entry circled, but the words themselves made no sense to Celeste.  _ Griffons stand plaidweave quid. _

Varric squinted at it. His eyes moved up and down the page, taking in the other entries. Then he nodded and handed it back to Leliana. “I take it you have more to go on?”

She nodded. “Mages aren’t the only ones disappearing.” 

“Oh shit,” Varric said. 

“My thoughts precisely.” 

They both fell silent again. Varric shook his head and muttered. Leliana paced. 

“What would make both Wardens and mages disappear?” Celeste ventured.

“Well, Spooky, last time disappearing Wardens got involved with magic it was an army of demons,” Varric said. 

Celeste pulled the blanket tighter around herself. It smelled vaguely of perfume, probably Leliana’s. “Whatever it is, it’s anti-Circle,” she said. “Maybe it’s not so bad.” 

“Speaks the maleficar,” Leliana said. 

Celeste’s insides jolted, but while Leliana was intimidating, her dream was still fresh in her mind. “The Circles are what made me what I… am.” She’d been about to say  _ was _ , but that would be untrue. She’d forever be a maleficar. It’s not something you recovered from… just something you stopped tapping into. She swallowed. “They say… they say that the next Divine will likely restore the Circles.” 

Leliana’s eyes narrowed. “What does that have to do with Grey Wardens?” 

“I don’t know, but maybe whoever we’re dealing with… maybe this is about the next Divine.”

“It’s not,” Leliana said. 

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because if they were targeting the next Divine they’d be here, not luring people away from here.” 

“Why here?” Celeste pressed. 

Leliana’s lips formed a thin line. Her gaze dropped to her hands. 

Varric chuckled. 

When Celeste looked at him, he was smiling. “It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the next Divine.”

Leliana shook her head. “Not anymore.”

“Not anymore? What does that mean?” Varric asked.

Her eyes met his. “It means I declined.”

The dwarf’s brow puckered. “You declined? May I ask  _ why _ ? I thought it would be perfect for you. Power, spies, righteous fury. And nice shoes. I’m willing to bet the Divine gets nice shoes.”

Leliana did not seem impressed with his comments, and it was clear she wasn’t going to answer. 

“But you said that they’d target the next Divine here,” Celeste prompted. 

Leliana nodded. “Cassandra is set to take my place. She will do a fine-”

Varric surged to his feet. “The Seeker? As Divine? I… must have had more wine than I thought.” 

Celeste’s stomach felt sour. Cassandra was known to be traditional. While she no doubt had a good heart, she’d definitely reestablish Circles. 

“Who else knows this?” Varric asked. “Is it possible Blondie found out? Because I think our girl here might have a point. Solana’s out there training an army.” He pointed in the general direction of the courtyard. “And if that army is being led away, being joined with Wardens… we need to tell the Inquisitor.”

Leliana sighed. “That’s the other thing.” 

Varric raised his eyebrows. 

“The Inquisitor is, well, there’s no easy way to say this. I don’t know where he is.” 

Varric sank back into his chair. “ _ You _ don’t know where he is? Well, that’s not good.” 

She held up a hand. “I know what you’re going to suggest: that he’s been kidnapped or drawn into this plot. I assure you, that is not the case. He… chose to disappear.”

“Come again?”

“The official story is that he’s in the Frostback Basin. He arrived, made contact with the local Avaar and had some success digging up information on Inquisitor Ameridan. All the official reports say he’s still there. Even Scout Harding, who I can usually rely on to be honest, has made mention of him in her updates.” 

“So if everyone says he’s there…”

Her mouth quirked. “ _ My _ sources tell me they haven’t seen him in weeks. His latest missions, the ones Harding is so thrilled to inform us about? My people report that they’re the work of the Bull’s Chargers. I can only assume that the Inquisitor chose to take a… vacation, for want of a better term. And he’s got some of _ his  _ people in on it. Usually I’d be thrilled but…”

“Yeah, he has some timing.” Varric dropped his head into his hands. “Alright, so we likely have Wardens building an army of mages. Or is it mages building an army of Wardens?”

“Likely it’s our  _ friend  _ building an army consisting of both,” Leliana said. 

“Right.” Varric’s voice raised in pitch. “And no Inquisitor. We can’t tell the Seeker because she’ll get the Chantry involved the instant she hears the word phylactery. That’s probably a full minute before she has our mages locked up for being susceptible to dream whispers. Although that’s maybe not a bad idea.”

“Hey!” Celeste said. 

Varric turned his attention to her. “Now that I think of it, we probably shouldn’t even be discussing this with you here. How do we know he can’t listen in?”

“Varric.” Leliana’s voice was level. “If I could listen in to conversations simply by having a mage’s phylactery, I wouldn’t need spies.”

He grunted, but he seemed satisfied with that. “So, what do we do?”

Leliana steepled her fingers again. Celeste was worried this might mean another half  hour of silence. Surprisingly, the spymaster smiled. “We need to solve this quietly. That means we send a small team. A very small team. A team with... expertise.” Her focus rested on Celeste and her heart lurched. She didn’t want to be sent away from Skyhold, not now Ren was here. But Leliana said only, “I’d like you to play along with this shadow. You will need to be careful not to let on what you know. Can you do that?” 

Celeste squared her shoulders. “I can control myself in the Fade.” 

She was grateful her self-doubt didn’t leak into her voice. 

“Good,” Leliana said. “We need to find out where it wants you to go. And preferably _ when _ . The timeline is important. Maybe try to delay… see how desperate it is.” 

“Alright.” Celeste’s mouth went dry at the thought of it. “I’ll do that. I’ll also try to… I’ll let you know if I hear things from the other mages.” 

“That would be helpful, but be subtle.”

“Of course.” 

Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Varric’s eyes slid to Leliana. “You always this popular?” 

Before she had a chance to answer, the scout arrived panting. Leliana stood. “Report!”

It couldn’t be an attack already, could it? Celeste cursed bringing Ren here. She’d thought it would be  _ safe _ . Now, once again, the fortress was likely the target of some conspiracy. 

The scout gulped in air. “It’s Samson. Some of Cullen’s men attacked him. He’s been taken to the infirmary. Thought you’d want to know.”

 

* * *

 

Samson stared at his hand in front of his face. He knew it to be his own hand, but it didn’t feel like his. It felt disconnected. The lines and wrinkles he’d known his whole life suddenly seemed strange. He blinked to bring it back into focus. 

The door burst open and he moved his attention to it. A familiar voice. A blur of silver, Rutherford’s clipped voice asking questions. “I instructed you to keep an eye on him.” 

“Sorry, ser.” 

“Who was it? Where are they now?” 

“Jung and Markem, Ser.”

“I hope you had them escorted to the gaol? I will not have this sort of behaviour from men under my command.”

“Err. About that…”

A white shape moved passed Rutherford, dashing towards Samson at such a speed that he covered his face with his arms.

“Oh Maker, what did they do to you? Are you all right? Samson?” 

This voice he knew too, and his body flushed with warmth. He saw flowers, sunshine… he blinked and lowered his arms. 

Celeste gasped, recoiling from him. She reached out a tentative hand towards his face, but paused in mid air as if uncertain where to touch him that it would not hurt. 

He tried for a smile. “They got me good, didn’t they?” 

Rutherford was yelling now, yelling at his men though and not at Samson. But it was annoying because it drowned out Celeste’s reply. Samson tried to focus on her, but he was having as much difficulty as he’d had with his hand. Only, instead of looking unfamiliar, she looked ethereal. Her white clothes seemed to glow in the lantern light, fuzzing out around her. Her white clothes… her white… nightdress. She was wearing nothing but a nightdress. It was conservative - buttoned up to her collarbone, with long sleeves - but it was still just a nightdress. 

He gawked. It took a good few moments before he was aware that she was speaking to him. 

“Have they given you anything? Did they send for a healer?” 

Someone snorted. It was Rutherford’s man, the one who’d brought him here. He stood beside Celeste, peering down at Samson. “They gave him elfroot. Can’t you tell? He’s off his rocker.” 

“’s not that bad,” he said defensively, although the words slurred. “I’m here.” 

“Sure you are,” the man said. 

Samson shook his head. He didn’t want to speak to him anyway. The movement sent the infirmary spinning. He had to press his eyes closed until it stopped, but then he was free to look at Celeste again. 

“I’m happy you’re here,” he said. 

She took his hand, the one he’d been staring at, and squeezed it. 

But why  _ was _ she here? In her nightdress? Surely Rutherford hadn’t roused her?

“Tell me what happened?” she asked.

What happened? It took a surprisingly long while to remember, considering how much his face hurt. “Went out for a walk, didn’t I? Then… Inquisition soldiers. Revenge or some such. One for the Red Templar business, one for a… lady soldier.” A lady. He’d threatened to hurt Celeste in return, hurt Celeste because of her association with Samson. “You should go.”

“Not until I’m sure you’re alright.” 

Samson tugged his hand free. “I said, go. I don’t want you here.” 

Rutherford’s man whistled through his teeth again, and Celeste looked to him as if he could offer explanation. 

“Go!” Samson shouted, and Celeste jumped. “Get away from me. I don’t want… want nothing to do with you. Yeah, you all heard me.” He waved his arm for emphasis. Even Rutherford had fallen silent and had turned to look at him. This was how rumours spread wasn’t it? He pointed at Celeste. “Get her away from me. I don’t want her here. Want nothing to do with her. Nothing.” 

Celeste shrank into herself, and she flinched with each word. It was like a kick to the stomach seeing that. But it was that or putting her in danger. No ways was he gonna do that. Not again. 

No one moved. Then Rutherford stepped forward.  “He doesn’t know what he’s saying, Celeste. It’s the-”

“It’s not the elfroot.” Samson waved his hands again. The violent movement pulled at his side, sending a shock of pain up from what must have been a broken rib. He held onto the pain. It brought with it clarity. He knew the one thing he could say to convince them all he was serious. He pointed at Celeste once more. “She’s a maleficar. Get her away from me.” 

Samson wasn’t exactly experienced with women. The women he’d known had either been self-righteous Meredith types or, well, whores and the like who were prone to drama. His heart was slamming and he expected one of two things to happen. Either Celeste, who was staring at him with wide, hurt, eyes would leap to her feet and flee from the room. Or she’d hex his balls off. 

She did neither of those things. She rose slowly, and Samson knew every eye in the infirmary followed her. Probably waiting for the hexing, probably hoping for it. 

She took two careful steps forward. There was a blanket draped around her shoulders, he saw. She removed it. Her hands shook and his guts twisted. He dared not breathe and it seemed no one else did either. 

She reached forward, holding opposite corners of the banket. He was prepared for her to try and smother him, or set the thing on fire. He wasn’t prepared for her to drape it around him. It was warm from being beside her body and it smelled good. He wanted to push it away, repeat his declarations. But he lacked the strength. 

“I told you to leave,” he offered weakly.

“I’m going,” she said, voice like ice. “Be well, Ser Samson.”

Everything hung in suspension as she turned and left, as if caught in a Gravitic Ring. The moment she was out in the courtyard, the infirmary came alive again. People started talking to each other. Rutherford muttered, “Maker’s breath,” and hurried out again, removing his surcoat. Samson crumpled in on himself.

He let out a breath. It came out a sob. Maker, let them all not have noticed it, or let them think it was due to his physical pain. His chest hurt so bad that it drowned out the pain in the rest of him.

 

* * *

 

 

Mist swirled around Cullen’s feet as he headed back to his office after his dawn drills. Gooseflesh rose on his arms as his muscles stiffened in response to the chill. An unfamiliar sensation, and one he was not fond of, but he’d given his surcoat to Celeste the night before and he wasn’t about to go pounding on her door for it back before the sunrise. 

He’d roused his men early to break the news about Jung and Markem. It had been a difficult thing, to be suitably mournful about their deaths and to balance this with a lecture about what a  _ waste _ it was, and how Samson was on  _ their side _ now and any grievances for the past should be set aside, no matter how difficult it might be. 

Jung had always been a bit of a fire mine waiting to explode. Cullen regretted not keeping a better watch on him after he lost his partner in the Arbor Wilds campaign. Markem, on the other hand, had been a good soldier, an ex-Templar, disciplined. For him to do something like this...

As he mounted the stairs to his office, he noticed the door ajar. His stomach churned as possibilities raced through his mind. Cassandra there to lecture him about the events of the night before, Solana there to tell him she was leaving Skyhold and taking Alise with her, Cassandra having discovered the phylacteries missing, Josephine having discovered his lyrium theft…  _ no, stop. Paranoia, a side effect of the lyrium.  _ Still, it was with caution that he entered his office.

A man stood staring out of one of the windows. He turned when he heard Cullen enter, and grinned. 

Cullen’s trepidation melted away and he found himself returning the man’s smile. His skin was darker than when Cullen had last seen him - the tattoos on his chin now almost blending into his stubbled beard - and he was broader of shoulder. But despite his difficult assignment, he still radiated warmth. 

“Rylen!” Cullen shook his hand and patted him on the back. “I didn’t know you were due back from the Western Approach.” 

“Heh, well, they asked me to replace you when you took your little sojourn, didn’t they? Unfortunate for them it takes near on a month to get here from the Approach. So I suppose it’s my turn for a holiday.” 

So the Inquisitor hadn’t had all that much faith Cullen would return, despite how he’d made it seem. Cullen couldn’t find it in him to be annoyed. It was good to see his second in command again. A friend. 

“When did you get in?” Cullen asked. He hadn’t seen any horses in the courtyard. 

“Late last night, but I was informed you had your hands full.” Rylen leaned back against the wall. “Something about Samson attacking someone?”

Cullen snorted. Amazing how the gossip mill always twisted things. “Someone attacking Samson, in fact.”

“In his cell?”

“Eh, no.”

Rylen narrowed his eyes. “Samson’s not in a cell?” 

Rylen had worked with the Templars in Kirkwall, but long after Samson had been thrown out of the Order. Cullen wasn’t sure if the two of them had ever met. If they had, it would have been when Samson was nothing but a vagabond. 

“I’ve asked Samson to assist with training the recruits. If anyone knows our weaknesses it would be him.”

Cullen waited for the contradiction, watching Rylen’s face. Cassandra had made a noise like a kettle about to boil over, and then proceeded to launch a barrage of questions. But Rylen simply tilted his head to the side, seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded. “I take it your men are not too happy with this arrangement?”

“Only two of them.” Cullen sighed. “That I know of. Hopefully their fates will serve as a warning to any others.” When Rylen didn’t say anything, he added, “You think me mad.” 

“Oh no, not at all. I’m just surprised Samson would help us so willingly. You are certain he doesn’t have some ulterior motive?” 

Cullen couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, he has a motive.” Rylen raised his eyebrows. “A girl.”

Rylen laughed and shook his head. “Is that all it took? Well we should have sent one of those into the Wilds instead of soldiers. Would have been cheaper, let me tell you.” 

Cullen laughed too. It felt good to laugh. “Jokes aside, I knew Samson before all of this. When he was a Templar in Kirkwall. We roomed together. He was a good man then. Kind. I… didn’t do as much for him as perhaps I could have. I’m not certain if he can be redeemed, but… everything that’s happened these last years… it would be nice to believe that something can come back from the brink?” 

“Yeah,” Rylen agreed. And looking into his face, Cullen could see that he understood as few would. He’d been there to clean up the mess in Kirkwall. 

His gaze didn’t leave Cullen as he said, “Talking of… we hear strange rumours out in the Wastes. I was hoping you could clear this one up for me? I heard you married, the Hero of Ferelden no less, had a child, which was Blighted  _ and  _ Tranquil… and was cured with blood magic. Which of those things are real and which ones are false?”

“Solana didn’t use blood magic,” he said. Rylen eyes widened. Cullen dropped his voice. “She used a demon. But I’d rather that wasn’t common knowledge. And no, I did not approve.”

“A demon?” Rylen repeated, voice equally soft. “You can’t be serious?”

“I wish that I wasn’t.”

Rylen clapped him on the back. “Well, in that case, drinks on me.”

“I can’t,” Cullen protested. “It’s first thing in the morning. I have work. I’m on duty.”

“You’re also the boss around here. Unless I am, in which case consider it an order. We should probably get that cleared up.”

It would have worried Cullen, except he knew that Rylen wasn’t the sort to jockey for authority. No doubt he’d report to Cassandra and be given a few weeks of leave before heading back to the Western Approach.

Cullen pinched between his eyes and sighed. He  _ could  _ do with a drink.

 

* * *

 

 

“Well, would you look at that,” Leliana said suddenly.

  
Varric glanced up from the chess board. “Nightingale?”  
  
The spymistress stared over the balcony. Varric rose and followed her gaze. His eyes itched and he struggled to focus. Leliana had insisted that instead of going and getting a few good hours sleep, they should play chess. It would help them develop a strategy, apparently. So far all Varric was developing was a headache.  
  
Varric didn’t see anything of note, except that Cullen and another man were heading towards the tavern.   
  


“Bit early for a drink, isn’t it?” he asked, not understanding her interest.  
  
“That’s Cullen’s replacement.”   
  


“Replacement? Why’s the Seeker replacing him?”   
  


She shook her head. “Cassandra isn’t. But… this solves a little problem I was having.”   
  


She knocked over Varric’s king. “Check mate.”   
  


“Maker’s balls.” Varric sighed. “I don’t know whether you’re being dramatic, cryptic, or just made me look up to distract me.”   
  


“Why not all three?” she asked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're unsure who Rylen is, he's the dude who gives you some quests at Griffon Wing Keep. If you chat to him, you find out he was one of the Templars from Starkhaven who came in to help with Kirkwall after the Anders Incident and that he became friends with Cullen and is now his second in command. I've taken liberty with pretty much everything else about him here. 
> 
> Things are about to get interesting ;)


	11. Look to the sky

There was one blissful moment upon waking that Samson was aware of being wrapped in a warm blanket that smelled vaguely of Celeste. 

Then the pain crashed down on him. He swore, rolling onto his back, as memories flooded back of the night before. Rutherford’s men and then… and then Celeste. 

“Andraste’s holy arse.” Her face when he’d said those things. 

It had been necessary. He needed to show them all he didn’t care for her. But if he’d been more himself perhaps he could have thought of another way.

He needed to apologise. 

But if he apologised, wouldn’t that undo any good he’d done?

No, he needed to apologise. Screw the consequences.

“Awake are you?” 

He opened his eyes. Light too bright. An old woman bending over him. She prodded his ribs and he yelped. 

“We mended your face best we could, but your bones are going to take a while.”

“What bones?” 

“Two ribs and, of course, the nose.” 

Yeah, the nose. Wasn’t like it had been a prize one in the first place. Wasn’t like he had any need for vanity. And who had he been fooling anyways? Even before last night, there was no chance of…

Maker’s balls, if there’d been no chance of anything why did he feel so shit about it? Eh? 

He hadn’t felt this bad since just after they took him off the red stuff. And he’d been dying then. She’d saved him. She’d risked herself to save his pathetic arse. No wonder he loved her. She was so… 

_ Shit.  _

He pressed himself to a sitting position, despite protests from his bruised muscles. “Thank you for your efforts,” he said to the old healer. 

“Now hold on, you shouldn’t be moving about just yet.” 

“Have to.” He was shirtless, he realised. He looked around for his clothes. Didn’t see them. Didn’t matter. He gathered the blanket to his chest and stood. 

“Ser, I must insist that you-” The healer, a diminutive old woman, tried to stand between him and the door, but he pushed past her. 

It was like walking on the deck of a ship. The ground kept moving beneath his feet, threatening to tip him over. He marched out into the courtyard regardless, squinting against the sun as he tried to estimate the time of day. 

There weren’t many folks about. The Hero wasn’t doing her drills yet. Early, but not very early. Probably just about the right time.

 

* * *

 

 

It was always cold in Skyhold’s recesses, but today it felt far worse. Today the cold didn’t just come from the outside, but from Celeste’s insides. 

A plot afoot, a new Divine who distrusted mages, a responsibility beyond anything she’d ever been entrusted with before. And Samson.

She shouldered open the pantry door, arms laden with supplies, and willed herself to think of something else. Think of Ren. 

What if the shadow and its army attacked Skyhold? Should she send him back? 

The door clicked shut behind her. Ren wanted to learn swordplay. Samson had seemed willing to teach him. What had changed? He knew from the start what she was. 

It didn’t matter. It was for the best. It…

“Celeste?” 

She jumped. A sack of flour on top of the pile she was carrying teetered, fell to the floor and exploded, sending a spray of white up towards the figure lurking in the dark back corner of the pantry. 

Samson. 

He was pressed against the wall, clutching a blanket to his otherwise bare torso. His face was still a mess. His cheek was blue, his brow sported a deep gash. The entire area around his nose was swollen and red and his lip was split.

“Sorry,” he said, gaze dropping to the flour. 

“What are you doing here?”   
  
“I... “ 

“Where are your clothes?” 

“The infirmary, I think.” He swallowed. 

“And you’re not in the infirmary because...?” 

His eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere but at her. “I needed to see you. To apologise. Explain.” 

She knelt down to begin gathering the flour. Magic couldn’t make it usable again, but at least it could clean it up. With a sweep of her hand, she cleared a section of the floor. “You don’t have to explain, you were dosed up with elfroot.”

“Yeah. But, that’s not it.” He dropped to his knees too. “I… listen, you didn’t deserve any of that, alright? I want you to know that.” He tried to scoop up flour with his hands, but he only managed to spread it out further. “I want you to know I don’t think of you like that, like that word.”

“A part of you clearly does.” She didn’t want excuses, so why was she asking for them? It would have been easier just to let him say his apology and be on his way. 

“No, that’s not true.” 

She cleared another area of floor. “They say that of drunks, you know? They say how they truly feel once they’ve had too much liquor.” 

“I don’t truly feel that. Please believe me.” He reached forward and grabbed her hand. Flour drifted down to the ground again like fine snow, freed from her spell.

His hand was warm, his fingers rough and calloused. His touch wiped all other thought from her mind. Her heart started hammering. 

“Those men last night, they said… they said they’d have their way with you, after I was gone. They wanted to hurt you, because they knew I… I cared for you.” 

Now her pulse thrilled through her, humming in her ears. His eyes were serious. She felt light-headed. 

“I’d never want any harm to come to you due to an association with me.” He concentrated on the floor again. “That’s the truth of it. But I feel awful. Like… like I can’t breathe. Like there’s a fist being driven into my chest. And my stomach’s a mess. I thought that I’d feel good about protecting you. But I don’t. I made a hash of it, like everything else.” He dropped her hand and she immediately felt the loss. “I don’t need you to forgive me, I’m not here to ask for that. It’s just… well... point is, you deserve better than to be called maleficar in front of everyone like that, and embarrassed and rejected. After everything you’ve done for me.”

He fell silent, finally. He still didn’t look at her, but he handed her the blanket. 

As his hands came away from his chest, she sucked in air. The blanket hadn’t just been hiding the bruised ribs from last night’s fight. His chest was covered in scars of varying shapes, varying sizes. Noticing her gaze, he wrapped his arms around himself. “Shoulda found a shirt, sorry.” 

“Where did…” her mouth was dry. “How did those…” 

“Not here, if that’s what you’re thinking. Turns out Inquisition treats you well provided you co-operate. I mean, they roughed me up a little but nothing that won’t heal. I… eh… well I should go.”

He climbed to his feet, gaze still downcast. 

“Was it Corypheus?” she asked, also rising. 

“Little bit,” he said. “Little bit him, little bit Kirkwall, little bit… before.” He glanced up at her nervously.

She didn’t know what to say. “I suppose last night gave you a few more?”  _ Stupid. _

He smiled, best he could with that split lip. “Yeah, possibly.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Now why are  _ you _ sorry? Last I checked, you didn’t come at me with a gauntlet.”

“No, but if I hadn’t asked Cullen to set you free…”

He shook his head. “This isn’t on you. None of it. You hear?” He advanced towards her, shambling more than walking. “You are…”

She waited for him to say what she was. 

Eventually he simply shook his head. He continued past her, towards the door. “Thank you for everything, Celeste. I mean it. It’s been truly-”

“Wait.” 

He’d almost reached the door and she knew that once he opened it, that was goodbye. She wasn’t ready for that. She searched for something to say to change his mind, to convince him that there was a way they could continue to see each other. 

“Ren,” she blurted. “You said you’d train him.” 

He paused, but didn’t look at her. 

“He hasn’t stopped asking about lessons since we saw you training. His mind’s set on it.” 

“I’ll have to ask the Commander,” he said. 

“Of course.” 

“You sure it’s something you want? I’m not exactly a role model.”

“Long as you promise not to get him hooked on red lyrium.” The joke was a gamble. She didn’t know what else to do to lighten the mood. As she said it, she realised it might be the exact wrong thing to say. 

But Samson smiled. “Just the blue stuff, eh?” 

She picked up his implication. Ren  _ had  _ seemed very interested in his shield. 

“He won’t be a Templar,” she said. 

“No, course he won’t. Templars won’t even be around when he’s old enough, Maker willing.”

“Maker willing,” she repeated. 

She watched him leave, debating whether she should risk helping him out. Each movement seemed painful, but he’d made his wishes clear. Half carrying him back to the infirmary wouldn’t exactly send the message that he wanted nothing to do with her. 

After he was gone and she was left alone in the dim room, standing in the middle of a pile of flour, thoughts of the shadow came back to her. 

_ No Templars, Maker willing. _

 

* * *

 

For Solana, the best part about staying in the guest quarters was that they overlooked the garden. Bird song and the smell of herbs would drift through the window, over Alise’s cot and she’d stare up at the curtains moving in the breeze and giggle. The cot was Orlesian - something Josephine produced from  _ somewhere  _ in the stores. It was intricately carved and rocked gently from side to side at the slightest push. 

The Circle had taught Solana never to waste magic, never to use precious mana on menial tasks. But now she knew they were only afraid. Magic was like a muscle, the more you used it, the more there was to use. Now she gave no thought to sending tendrils of energy across the room to rock her child back to sleep. 

No such luck. Alise's giggles turned into worried whimpers. 

So, Solana lifted her heavy limbs and rubbed her eyes. The guest bed was everything she could have asked for - a soft duvet, expensive sheets. But it was not  _ her _ bed, it was not  _ Cullen _ 's bed. She did not sleep well in it. 

"Alright, love, I'm here. I'm here." She leaned over the cot and scooped Alise out. 

She wouldn't settle. Solana tried to feed her, but she shook her head from side to side. Whatever had upset her, it didn't seem to be anything physical. 

Holding the infant to her chest, Solana tugged on fresh robes over her night dress. A walk in the garden then, that usually calmed her when little else would. 

When Solana closed the door to their quarters behind her, she was so absorbed in trying to straighten her robes without dropping her squirming daughter that she didn't notice the person leaning against the wall until they moved. 

“Have a moment?” 

Solana jumped. Leliana stood with her arms folded, her hood up. Solana’s heart kicked and started thumping hard. She hadn’t spoken to Leliana since… since…

Alise kicked out and screamed, loud enough to hurt Solana’s ears.“Ah, can it wait?” 

“I’ll walk with you,” Leliana said. 

Solana swallowed but inclined her head. 

She bounced Alise gently as they moved down the stairs, the baby’s screeching echoing off the stone. She was about to reiterate that this probably wasn’t the best time, when they reached the bottom of the stairs. The garden was empty. One of Leliana’s people stood at each entrance. 

Solana’s breath caught. She twisted to look over her shoulder, half expecting to see another agent following them, blocking the exit. 

Leliana held her hands up plaintively. “I only wish to talk. It’s about something… sensitive. I’d rather we didn’t have any eavesdroppers.” 

Alise’s crying died down as she spotted a bird overhead. 

“Let me guess,” Solana said, “you want to know what happened to the phylacteries?”

“No, I know what happened to them.” 

“You do?” Solana had not been expecting that. 

“But this _ is _ about the phylacteries.” Leliana linked her hands behind her back and strode further into the garden. Alise pointed at the bird, breathing rapidly in excitement. Solana followed the spymaster. 

She stopped in the centre, beside the old well, as far away from her agents as they could get. Then she turned back to Solana. “I need you to go on a mission.”

The idea was so ridiculous that it brought a bubble of laughter up from Solana’s chest. “Um, Leliana. I’m not sure you noticed, I’m a mother now. I don’t  _ do  _ missions.”

The spymaster waved that fact off as if it was of little concern. “We’re the Inquisition. We’ll get your daughter the best nurse money can buy. She’ll be seen to by women who raised kings. Her welfare is not an issue.” 

“She’s  _ my _ child.” 

“And she’ll still be your child when you return. I need you for this.”

Solana shook her head. “No.You can find someone else.” 

“He’s summoning the mages.” 

_ The mages?  _ “Which mages?” 

She cursed Leliana’s smug expression. “I knew that would get your attention.”

“What do you mean  _ summoning _ ?” 

Leliana advanced until she was so close that Alise could grab a lock of her hair, had she been so inclined and not mesmerised by the sky. “He’s using their phylacteries to approach them in their dreams and bid them join his army.” 

“Army?”

“Army. To attack the next Divine should they choose to bring back the Circles.”

_ How did she know all this? _ “Sounds like he might have the right idea,” she said facetiously. 

“I’m the next Divine.” 

For a long moment nothing moved. Even Alise was still. Solana realised she was holding her breath. Leliana’s gaze dropped down to her feet. 

“Would you bring back the Circles?” Solana asked stiffly.

“Never as they were. You trust me, don’t you? You  _ know  _ me.”

She did. Beneath that hood was a woman who wanted nothing but to make the world a happier place, who had braided flowers into Solana’s hair while humming fireside songs, who had believed herself chosen by the Maker. 

“I do,” she agreed.

“But Anders doesn’t.” Leliana took a step back. “He only knows me as the calculating spy who would do anything necessary to achieve her goals. He’s raising an army and you’re training it for him.” 

“Training it for- oh.” Her daily drills. She was teaching the mages to protect themselves, to control their energy, not to wage war. The war was supposed to be  _ over _ . 

Solana started walking, pacing, trying to think. “I could stop training them?” 

“I’ve seen what you’ve accomplished so far. It may be too late.” 

“Well what if we tell them not to listen to him, tell them the truth?”

“You seem to forget, these are by and large mages from the mage  _ rebellion _ .” Leliana folded her arms again. “Besides, if we change anything now, he would get suspicious. If we stand any hope of stopping him, we need to act soon, and quietly.” 

Alise wriggled again, grasping at a butterfly as if she wanted to be set free to chase it. 

“And you want me to stop him?” Solana asked.

“You leaving Skyhold would raise no suspicion. You weren’t exactly discreet when you left Cullen.” 

Solana’s stomach twisted at the phrasing.  _ You left Cullen. _ It wasn’t that it wasn’t true. It just… it just sounded so  _ final. _ “People will think I abandoned my daughter.”

“Only until you return victorious and once more the hero.”

Solana shook her head and cuddled her writhing child closer. 

Leliana pinched the bridge of her nose. “There’s more. The Grey Wardens are involved.” 

Solana searched her face for any trace she was being less than honest in a bid to gain her agreement. “I don’t understand, what would they want with phylacteries?” 

“That I’m not sure of yet. But I know that Anders is a Warden, so old ties… perhaps there’s something there. Point is, you see now why you’re the only person we can send. You’re a mage, a Warden and-”

“I’m not. I’m not a Warden anymore. I’ve been… cured of that.” 

Leliana shook her head. “But not everyone will know that. You haven’t received word from Weishaupt at all, have you?” 

“No,” Solana was forced to admit.

“So for all we know, you’re still a Warden Commander. You might be able to order them back, or get them to stop what they’re doing. Plus, most importantly of all, you’re Anders’s friend. You can reason with him, assure him that the Inquisition won’t allow the Chantry to hurt the mages again -  _ something _ . If anyone can get through to him, you can.” 

Solana frowned, “What about Hawke?” 

“Hawke is too close to this. He might be like holding a flame to  _ gaatlock _ . You’re the only one who can do this.”

“You’d have me go to him alone?” 

Leliana shook her head again. “Not alone, no. I’ll send an agent or two to meet with you on the road.”

An agent or two, that was hardly a comfort. “Do you even know where he is?” 

“I will soon.” Leliana reached out and touched her shoulder, fondly. “Think about it. I’ve already put in the call for the nurse. She will arrive in two days. I would not leave this longer. The next Divine will be consecrated before the end of next month. I do not imagine he plans to wait long after that to strike.” 

With that she turned and left. Her agents disappeared from the entrances. Solana stood with Alise as people began filtering into the garden again. She overheard that someone had let off a confusion grenade and they’d all been waiting for it to dissipate. Solana certainly felt like they could have been telling the truth.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_ The smell of ash filled Celeste’s nostrils and panic chased across her skin. The city was burning. Around her, screams. Somewhere in all of this, Ren. She had to find him… she had to get to him… she had to get him to safety. _

_ Darkspawn came rushing down the street in a wave of death. She tried to run away, but her legs wouldn’t move. They came closer and closer and-  _

_ “Celeste!” An alleyway presented itself to her left and she ducked into it. _

_ Darkness swallowed her. “Jenine?” she called for her sister.  _

_ “Celeste, come to me.”  _

_ Celeste felt her way forward in the dark. And then she realised. She was in the Fade.  _

_ It was still morning at Skyhold, but as soon as Celeste had finished her duties, she’d sent Ren out to play and made some of the tea she’d once served Solana. She may not even have needed it - she’d been exhausted from the events of the previous night. But better safe, better get this done as soon as possible.   _

_ Now she paused in the darkness, shivering. The scene beyond the alley was unfolding in all its gory detail. It was difficult to separate herself from it.  _

_ “Celeste, come to me. Save the mages from destruction. You have the power.”  _

_ She’d prepared for this. It shouldn’t take long. “No more Circles?” _

_ “No more Circles,” the whisper confirmed. “No one will have to suffer as we have.”  _

_ “And no more Templars?”  _

_ “None.” _

_ “Where do I find you?”  _

_ A surge ran through her, like magic. The streets of the burning city melted away and instead she was standing beside a ruin in the middle of a forest. Tall trees encircled it and overhead the stars twinkled.  _

_ “Look to the sky,” the voice said. “Keep to the stars. The dawn will come.”  _

 


	12. Brave and bold

Cullen was only a little tipsy by the time they’d climbed up the stairs to the Inquisitor’s office. He’d hadn’t intended to have more than one drink, but Hawke had been there and he’d looked in need of company. And then Varric had come in and suggested a game of Wicked Grace to cheer him up. Rylen had been keen. Next thing Cullen was ordering another round. 

What was one more drink, after all? He had not counted on his empty stomach.

The alcohol had only really hit him when he’d tried to stand. He’d almost fallen over again. Limbs light, head floating. Rylen had rushed to catch him, wrapping an arm around Cullen’s waist just before he tipped over. 

“We shouldn’t see her like this,” Cullen said now that they were up in the tower. He was careful to enunciate each word, not to slur. 

“I have to report I’m here, just let me do the talking. Smile and look pretty.” 

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen grumbled. 

The door to Max’s quarters was open and afternoon sunlight splashed across the stairs. How long had Cullen been in the tavern? They found Cassandra at the Inquisitor’s desk, leaning over the table and scowling at it as if it had personally insulted her. 

“Uh, Knight-Captain Rylen reporting for duty, ser,” Rylen said as he approached her. Cullen hovered near the top of the stairs, convinced she’d be able to tell with one look how much he'd had to drink. 

Cassandra glanced up. “Good.”

“Good?” Rylen sounded like he was smiling. “I’m afraid I’m not sure I understand. I was ordered back here when Cullen was away, but he’s here now so I assumed there’d be no need for me.”

Cassandra straightened, locking her hands behind her back. “Yes, well…” Her eyes moved to Cullen. “Perhaps you should take a seat, Commander.”

Had she seen how unsteady he was on his feet? 

_ No, no, this was something worse _ . “You’re dismissing me?” he guessed.

He knew it was paranoia, he knew it had to be. Yet there was a buzzing in his ears, a tingling at the back of his neck. And the memory of how disapproving she’d been when he’d returned. She didn’t know the whole story. Maybe if he explained… he bit his tongue. 

She sighed. “We think you need… a break.”

“A break? What is that supposed to mean?” _ Control yourself, don’t let the alcohol loosen your tongue.  _

“Cullen, I’d rather not discuss this in front of Knight-Captain Rylen.”

“I am not concerned about what Rylen hears. Tell me what’s going on.” He advanced towards her. “I’ve only recently returned from a break, Cassandra. I do not need a _break_.”

Her gaze cut past him, to Rylen. “Perhaps you could leave us for a few minutes?” 

“Of course,” he said. He nodded to Cullen, brow creased with concern, before he turned and went back down the stairs. Cullen heard the door close behind him. 

Now they were alone, Cullen’s annoyance drained away, leaving only a deep pool of emotion that he had been trying not to fall into for weeks. “Cassandra, you can’t take my command from me… please.”  _ It’s all that I have left.  _

She wiped a hand across her eyes, resting the other hand on her hip. “You asked me long ago to watch you and to recommend a replacement if I thought you were… not handling things effectively.”

“Is this about Samson?” His voice pitched on the name.

“No, Cullen.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand. When I returned, the Inquisitor welcomed me. Have I not been performing well enough? Is there some aspect of this position that I should be… I’ll do better. I assure you, I’ll-” 

Cassandra held up a hand to silence him. “This is not about your performance, Cullen. And I am not stripping you of your command. I meant what I said, it’s a break. That is all. You know I do not pad my meaning with niceties and useless assurances. You need time to recover from the events of the past few months.” Louder, she added, “Leliana, you can come out now.”

The spymaster slunk out of the Inquisitor’s dressing room where she’d clearly been listening in. 

“Do you ever walk into rooms like a normal person?” Cullen asked.

Leliana just smiled. 

“Commander, Leliana requested permission to ‘borrow you’.” She sneered at the term. “I have granted it on the Inquisitor’s behalf. However, it is your choice whether you accept her mission, or whether you opt to take leave instead. I will not pressure you into this, and you should not let her do so either.”

“Thank you, Cassandra,” Leliana said sweetly. “I will take it from here.” 

Cassandra tsked. “Fine, I will be briefing Knight-Captain Rylen. Outside.”

Leliana stared after her as she marched off.

Cullen rubbed his temples. “Was all of this really necessary? Could you not have approached me in my office?”

“We both know I wouldn’t have found you there. You smell like ale.”

He took a step back from her but she laughed. She drifted around the desk, taking in all the paperwork that Cassandra had left there. “I know where he is.”

“Anders?”

She nodded. “One of my...  _ agents _ came back with a lead. I even have a map.” She looked up at him again. “So, Commander, what do you think?” 

“What? You believe  _ I _ should go after him?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t been itching to since Kirkwall?” 

“Me and my wits against Justice?” 

“You, your wits, and  _ a map _ , yes.”  

He ran his fingers through his hair. “I am not sober enough for this discussion.”

Leliana smirked at that. “Perhaps this will sober you up. I have a relatively good grasp of what he’s intending to do. It involves an army of mages and overthrowing the Chantry.”

Ice rushed through him. “What?” 

“We have to move fast and quietly. He’s using the phylacteries to summon the mages to his side. No doubt he will be watching for an army or some kind of large force. But a single person might be able to move past his defenses.”

“The phyla- that’s what he’s using them for? To build an army?” 

She nodded. “For all we know, that’s only the beginning of his plans. Someone has to get to him and stop him. There aren’t many I’d consider sending on such a dangerous solo mission but-”

“Stop.” He held up a hand. His head was spinning. “You’re not going to convince me with flattery.”

“I’m not trying to flatter you. It’s the truth. We have worked together a long time and I know you to be a master strategist and a man of principle. You are skilled with the sword, trained in survival. Plus you’re already aware of the situation and of what’s at stake. There is also the fact that you will not arouse suspicion. No one would think anything of it if you left Skyhold after everything that’s happened.”

If he hadn’t been feeling so sick to his stomach, he might have appreciated the compliments. As it was, he sank down onto the Inquisitor’s chaise. “Andraste preserve us. Solana’s been training the mages. I’d wager most of them are from Ferelden.” He dropped his head into his palms. “Why didn’t I realise? What else would phylacteries be used for?” 

He wanted to scream. The lyrium was supposed to make him  _ better. “ _ We should warn the Chantry.”

“Or,” Leliana said as sat beside him. “You could stop him.”     
  


 

* * *

 

 

It was already late in the afternoon when Samson gathered the courage to go speak to Cullen about the events of the previous night. The infirmary had sent him back to his room with a few tonics to speed up recovery and one potion he was meant to take a sip of every time the pain grew unbearable. The lumpy mattress and his numerous bruises made it difficult to sleep. Mostly he’d lain on his back and stared at the roof, watching the shadows change. 

When the light changed colour, he knew he’d better go report in. 

Walking across the courtyard was an odd experience. He drew everyone’s attention and many leaned together to comment. No hope of hiding who he was now. He hesitated at the foot of the stairs up to the battlements where Cullen had his office. He could retreat to his room and wait until the commander summoned him. 

Or he could man up and face the music. 

The door was ajar and Samson rapped on it gently before Cullen’s voice bid him enter.

But Cullen was not at his desk. There was another man sitting going through the paperwork, someone Samson didn’t recognise. 

“Rylen, meet Samson.” Cullen’s voice came from the dim part of the room, by the bookshelf. He was facing away from Samson, scanning through the titles. “Samson, meet Rylen. My replacement.”

Samson went cold. “Replacement?” The word fell from his mouth before he had a chance to tone it down. “Why are they replacing you?” 

His heart started to hammer. What happened to him if Rutherford wasn’t around? Would he be imprisoned? Tortured? Traded away? All the horrors he’d imagined locked in his cage came back to him. 

It was the new man - Rylen - who answered. “Commander Cullen has some business elsewhere. I believe you’ll be helping me train the recruits?”

Samson wasn’t sure whether he was serious or baiting him. Before he could decide which, Cullen turned. “Knight-Captain Rylen has been heading our operations out in the Western Approach.”

“Ah, you’re Griffon Wing Keep?” 

Rylen smiled. “That would be me.”

“What did you do to deserve that?” Samson regretted the jibe the instant he made it, and he tensed for the response. 

But Rylen laughed, turning to Cullen. “He has a point. What  _ did _ I do to deserve that?”

Cullen bristled. “If you’re implying it was some sort of punishment, I assure you that was not the case. You were determined to be the best man for the job. Your command experience plus-”

Rylen held up a hand. “Cullen, stop, we were joking.”

“Oh.” Cullen frowned. “Forgive me.” 

Samson stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked at his feet. “Anyways, I, uh, I imagine you’d want to see me after last night. Sorry for missing the drills this morning. They doped me up with some tonic or some such.” 

“I saw the state you were in. It’s any wonder you’re standing here now,” Cullen said.

Everything still hurt, but Samson would be damned if he let them see. “Well, I wanted to… express my regret, I suppose. Those men were bad apples. But I did not intend to kill them. I’m hoping you can believe that.”

“I do.” Cullen’s expression was surprisingly open. “I received a report from my people. They said you were not to blame and were acting in self defence.”

“Oh, good.” Samson shifted from foot to foot, then stopped himself. Way to avoid looking suspicious. “I, there was something else. A minor matter.”  

“Well speak, man, what is it?” 

“Celeste’s little one, you’ve met him?” 

“No, but I know of the boy. What about him?” Cullen brought his hands to rest on his sword hilt. It was a tell that he was nervous, a familiar motion that Samson remembered back from Kirkwall days. It was somewhat encouraging. 

“Scrawny isn’t he? Thing is, he wants to learn the sword. I think it could be good for the boy, the physical training and, perhaps, a good skill to have. Celeste asked me to teach him. I wanted to know if that might be alright. Obviously, wouldn’t be anything that would interfere with my other duties, and if it’s too tangential to what you intended for-”

“I think it’s an excellent idea,” Cullen said. 

“You do?” The enthusiasm surprised Samson, but once again he could find nothing insincere in Cullen’s expression. 

Cullen nodded. “I remember when I was his age, you couldn’t keep me away from the training dummy. Although, believe me, my siblings tried.” He gave a lopsided smile, gaze going distant. “I’d of course turn it into a game of templars and apostates. My little sister _ hated  _ playing the mage, but it was that or leave me alone and she couldn’t do that.” He chuckled wistfully. “Although, it’s Knight-Captain Rylen’s permission you’ll need.”

Samson swallowed down his pride and turned to the man, drawing a breath to ask again. Rylen smiled. “Yeah, why not. Long as it’s somewhere public.” 

“Of course,” Samson said, although he riled at the implication he might do anything untoward if left alone with a child.  

“Yes, fair point,” Cullen said. “We don’t want the boy getting in the way of the next assassin someone sends for you.” 

As soon as Samson left the room, Rylan asked, “So, Celeste’s the girl I take it?”

“The very same. She’s a good woman, a friend. And from what I can tell, she welcomes his advances.” 

“Widowed?” A fair question considering she had a child. 

“Mage.” Cullen sat down carefully on the edge of his reading chair, mindful of the teetering books he would knock over if he leaned back too far.

“Does the southern Chantry not take children from mage mothers?” Rylen asked. 

Cullen sighed. Some part of him knew he shouldn’t say much more, but the alcohol still in his system was overpowering that voice. 

“Oh, they do. Celeste escaped the Circle, with the help of my- of Solana, during the Blight.” 

“Ah. The apostate and the ex-Templar. That’s something out of an Orlesian Opera,” Rylen said.

“Maleficar,” Cullen added, because it was all the more ironic when you knew that. 

Rylen’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open and Cullen knew he’d said too much. “You have maleficarum at Skyhold? What else are you harbouring? Darkspawn?”

“Do Grey Wardens count?” 

Rylen blinked at him. _Maker’s breath_ , he really was saying too much. He didn’t much care to keep the Warden secret, he bore no love for the Order now that he knew what they made their new recruits do, what happened to any children they bore. Still, he held his tongue. Revealing sacred secrets was a decision best made sober. 

He brought the conversation back to Celeste. “I made it sound worse than it is. It’s true, she knows blood magic. But she was brought into a scheme beyond her understanding when she was young and naive. She claims to have used the power once, and only once, against her tormentor. The… the father of her child. The next time she used that magic, it was to save Solana’s life.”

“The father of her child?” Rylen prompted, leaning forward with interest. 

Cullen swallowed. Now he was really uncomfortable. He scratched the back of his neck. “Yes, uh, a Templar. I regret to say I knew him. Although I certainly didn’t know what he was doing with the mages in his care. The very thought sickens me.” 

“You knew hi- She’s one of Kinloch’s? One of  _ those _ blood mages?” 

Something clicked in the back of his mind. Those mages. The mages with the missing phylacteries. He felt suddenly nauseous. 

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “We should get back to work. I have a few more reports I’d like to discuss with you.” 

Rylen’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. “Of course.”   
  


 

* * *

 

 

It took three days to properly brief Rylen and hand over all of his duties, but when Cullen rode out of Skyhold’s gates, he knew he’d done the right thing. 

The phylacteries were his responsibility. With them, Anders, Justice or their allies could use blood magic to force the mages to commit any number of unspeakable acts. The image of Celeste being used that way terrified him, and not just because he’d grown fond of the maleficar. How many other powerful mages were there at Skyhold now, waiting for their power to be tapped? 

Cullen hadn’t gone to see Solana. He reasoned that doing so would raise too many questions. And if he saw Alise… He worried he might change his mind. So he hadn’t said goodbye. But when Leliana had seen him off, he’d given her a letter.  She’d been repeating the directions for the inn where he was to meet her agent with the map, when he’d slipped the scroll into her grasp. “If something happens to me… Solana. Please.”

She’d nodded. It was easier to say sorry than it was to say goodbye. 


	13. Blinded

The inn was a lot busier than Cullen would have imagined. It was a good sign, he supposed, having people out on the roads again. Still, he’d hoped for somewhere quiet after two days of travelling. He took off his coat and scanned the crowds. 

He had a good idea of what to look for. Leliana had told him that her agent would meet him at an inn a day’s ride north of Val Chevin, that she was a redhead and Cullen would know her when he saw her. He did indeed know her redheaded agent, an elven woman who would spend weeks at a time outside of Skyhold. What was her name? Charger? No, Charter. He was relatively certain that was it. Although she probably went by some other code name while out in the field. 

He didn’t see her as he headed towards the bar. He’d made good time, so it was possible he was here early. He could have a drink and wai-

A man moved aside and he spotted a flash of red hair. It wasn’t Charter, that he knew immediately. This hair was long and wild like… no. 

He walked towards her in a daze, still hoping he was wrong, distracted, addled by lyrium. She hadn't noticed him. She leaned over the bar, talking animatedly to the barman. There was no doubt. It was Solana. 

He stood frozen, people brushing past him, the entire world moving around him. 

And then she saw him. She blanched, her lips fell open, all good humour disappeared from her face. “Cullen?” 

His name broke the spell, he closed the distance between them, shaking his head. “What are you doing here?” he asked under his breath, his tone was harsh but he didn’t care. “Where’s Alise?”

“Alise is at home.” Solana searched his face. “She meant you, didn't she? Maker, Leliana.” She turned away, slumped over with her head in her hands. 

He sighed. “Let me guess, you were sent here to meet with one of her  _ agents _ ?”

Solana scrubbed her face. “You may as well return to Skyhold, I’m sure your troops will miss you.” 

His annoyance battered against his chest. “What, and let you continue alone?” 

She opened her mouth to answer, but he interrupted her. “Don’t give me that Hero of Ferelden speech. If either of us should return it’s you. Who did you leave Alise with? Celeste?”

“No. Leliana ordered a nurse from Orlais.”

“Of course she did.” Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. How long had it taken for the nurse to arrive? Leliana must have been planning this for some time. 

They fell into a moody silence. The barkeep brought Solana a drink she must have ordered before Cullen had joined her, but she didn’t touch it. 

“I can’t return,” she said eventually, voice soft but firm. “I have a responsibility to protect the mages.”

“And I have a responsibility to stop them.” 

Solana snorted. “How perfect, a mage and a templar. I’m certain Varric’s in on this. It sounds just like something from one of his books.”

Cullen leaned against the bar, recalling how the dwarf encouraged him to drink just before Leliana sprung her trap. “Most certainly,” he agreed. 

Solana swivelled her body on her stool so she was facing him. “Look, aside from the mage thing, and the Hero of Ferelden thing… there are Grey Wardens involved in this. I don’t know whether I still hold rank with them, but it’s possible I do. It’s possible I can at least stop them.”

“The phylacteries are my responsibility,” Cullen insisted.

“Why do you always have to be so stubborn?” 

“ _ Me _ ?” Their argument was starting to draw curious stares. He ducked his head and hissed to her. “ _I’m_ hardly the stubborn one.” 

She laughed hollowly and fixed her hands around her drink. 

“I am  _ not  _ stubborn,” he repeated.  

“Look, Cullen, this journey is going to mean a lot of one-on-one time. The route takes us through forests and-”

“So you  _ do _ have a map?”

She glared at him but did not dignify that with an answer. “And there will be a lot of walking and camping and -”

“I’ve been through the wilderness before. Have you forgotten about the Battle of the Arbor Wilds already?”

“I’m not implying you’re unqualified, Cullen. I’m just saying that if we do this, we’re going to have to do it without killing each other. We don’t have time to get sidetracked by our personal issues.”

“Maker’s breath, Solana, I’m not a child.”

She stared obstinately into her ale. As much as he hated to admit it, she _was_ uniquely qualified for this. 

“I may not be the Hero of Ferelden, but I’m not without skill. However, if you truly wish for me to return to Skyhold, I will. I ask only that you then hire someone to accompany you. I do not fancy the idea of you travelling into this entirely alone.”

“Nor do I,” she said softly. 

He watched her profile, the tendrils of wild hair that curled down her cheek, the beautiful bright eyes. His heart clenched. 

“Hiring someone would waste time,” she said. “I have a room here for the night, but we can set off as soon as you’re ready.”   
  


* * *

 

 

Solana pulled out the scroll and spread it on the table just beneath the window. Cullen had chosen to make use of her room to wash and get a change of clothes, and now he sat at the small table looking pensive. 

“That doesn’t look like any map I’ve ever seen,” he said. 

“It’s not a map, it’s a celestial chart. The type used by sailors. I got it from the ship’s captain on the way over from Jader.”

His brow furrowed. “I thought you said we were to be travelling through forests, not across the ocean?”

“Same difference though, isn’t it?” The note that Leliana had given her was considerably smaller, but she placed it on the table too. It was a map of part of Orlais with star positions jotted beneath it. Solana tapped an area circled in ink. “Leliana’s agent identified the star position of Anders’s location as somewhere around here.”

Cullen leaned forward and squinted at the page. “Around here?” 

“It seems like if we follow the Arlesans River north that will take us most of the way. Then… we use this.” She was wearing the small brass sextant around her neck so as not to lose it, and she pulled it from beneath her robes to show Cullen. “I also have an almanac of star positions for when we get closer. Leliana mentioned in her note that she suspected the map her agent got hold of was purposefully vague and that it wouldn’t take us all the way there. I see what she meant. This translates to a very broad area. We’ll have to look for other clues as we draw nearer.”

“You love this, don’t you?” he asked. 

She wasn’t sure how to interpret the question. Was it an accusation? Perhaps he thought she should be at home with their child, rather than adventuring. Or that she took some sick joy in hunting down someone who had once been a friend. His gaze rested on the map, offering no clue. 

“It’s better than being locked in a Circle,” she said, tucking the sextant away. 

He made no comment as she packed up the maps. The truth was, she _ did _ enjoy it. She felt alive, like she had purpose again. And she felt more at home on the road than she’d ever felt at Skyhold. 

“We should go through our packs, compare supplies, discard anything we don’t need,” she suggested. 

Cullen jerked. His mind must have been wandering. “That won’t be necessary. We should take what we can carry.” 

“Unnecessary items will weigh us down,” she pressed. 

He rose. “I’m assuming we won’t be sharing a tent, so I’d argue everything is necessary.” 

Taking two tents was definitely a waste. But if that was the only way he’d be comfortable, she had no choice but to agree. “Fine. Then we should get going. We still have a few hours of light left.” 

“Agreed.”

 

* * *

 

 

A small crowd had gathered around the training dummies, and small in this case meant… well… 

“Mister, mister, will you teach me to fight with a sword?”

“And me!” 

“I want to learn too!” 

It seemed like every single one of Skyhold’s brats had been summoned to the training area the instant Ren had touched his sword. In all truth, Samson wouldn’t have minded, but they seemed to distract the boy. And this was only his first lesson, he needed to concentrate.

Ren squared his shoulders and pushed his hair out of his eyes. He glanced to the side where a particularly eager little girl was jumping up and down trying to get a better look at him. 

Samson placed a hand on his shoulder. “Remember what I told ya, hips face forward towards your opponent.” 

Even the small movement sent sharp pain down Samson’s side. His rib wasn’t quite healed yet. He was loath to ask a mage for help, even if he’d believed there was a chance he’d be able to find one willing. Time heals all wounds, as the ol’ saying went. 

The boy nodded and shifted position. 

Samson nudged his right foot with his boot. Ren nearly lost his balance. “You gotta keep your weight even. Else your opponent can knock you over.”

“Yes, ser.” 

He wasn’t sure how he liked being called ser, but he didn’t think encouraging him to call him Samson was the best idea considering his name’s infamy. 

“Alright, now let’s see you strike. Remember to move to the right.”

Ren lifted Samson’s sword, his arms trembling. He struggled to get it high enough. Sweat prickled across his forehead. But he gritted his teeth and eventually managed. When he moved forward he did exactly as Samson had advised, striking the dummy’s right shoulder. 

“Good. Again.” 

Ren panted with the effort, but he swung once more. The sword barely touched the dummy’s shoulder before it bounced lightly off it. 

There’d been other children watching the first time Samson had lifted a sword too. They’d stood and jeered at him, while his instructor had scolded him. Most of them had been noble, unlike this lot, and they’d practiced with wooden swords since they could stand. He still remembered the heat on his cheeks, the way sweat had trickled down the back of his neck. Now that same pink flush stained Ren’s face. 

“You’ll find this easier with time,” Samson assured him.    


He had Ren repeat the drill a few more times. When it became clear that he wouldn’t manage many more swings without seriously straining himself, Samson had him practice parrying. Even though it was clear Ren was tired, he was reluctant to call an end to the lesson so soon with all those little eyes watching. Then he noticed someone else watching, from the shade of a nearby tree. Celeste stood against the trunk, half hidden in shadow. When his eyes met hers, she inclined her head towards the stairs to the battlements. 

“Uh, Ren, I think that’s enough for today,” he said as he watched her mount the stairs. Had that meant what he thought? One way to find out. 

 

He found Celeste leaning over an embrasure, looking down at the training area. Samson noted that she’d chosen a place where hardly anyone ever walked and where it would be difficult for anyone to see them from below. He was glad of this. She’d taken his warnings to heart, then. 

“Raleigh Samson, Skyhold’s babysitter. Who would have thought?” She commented as he approached.

He grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. “How long have you been watching?” 

“Long enough to know you’d need this.” She passed him a skin of water. 

It was delightfully cool, he hadn’t realised just how thirsty he’d grown while they’d been training. 

“Some days I feel like you’re sent by Andraste herself,” he said, passing back the empty vessel. The truth was, it was most days. Celeste was never far from his mind, nor all the ways in which she’d changed things for him. His eyes lingered on her face, her smiling lips. Realising he was staring, he cleared his throat. “He’s a good boy. Fast learner. We need to build some muscle though, or find him a smaller sword.” 

“I’ll ask around at the market. I’m sure someone has something.” 

Samson shook his head. “Naw, weapons are expensive. I was thinking I could maybe put in a requisition. What’s the word on this Rylen guy? You know anything about him?”

“Who’s Rylen?” 

So that was a no, then. Cold wind whipped over the fortifications, a pleasant respite from the heat of the day. Plus, it made Celeste’s cheeks pink. He quite enjoyed the effect. Samson knew he should just thank her for the water and go. He was the one who insisted they never see each other. Yet, there wasn’t anyone here, right? There was no harm in lingering in her presence a little longer.  

“I went to talk to Rutherford what, about three days ago? And he tells me he’s being replaced for the time being. Needed elsewhere. Instead there’s this Rylen. Apparently he was serving out in the Western Approach.”

“Cullen’s gone?” Celeste’s hair lashed around her face, and she brushed it away. 

“Yeah, I guess he slipped away quietly. Don’t know what his business is, not sure he’d tell me if I asked. Anyways, Rylen seems alright so far. He hasn’t thrown me back in the dungeon or had me tortured. So I consider that a good sign. Still, was hoping you’d picked up some gossip. You know, maybe something else that can inform how I act around him? I don’t want to make some misstep and throw away everything. I’m gifted enough at that as is.”

Celeste chewed on her lower lip and didn’t respond. 

“Or not, it’s alright. I mean I don’t want to get you in trouble or-”

“Solana’s also gone. Leliana sent her on a mission.” She shook her head and laughed. “Our spymaster is playing matchmaker while an army of mages threatens the next Divine. Well, she certainly knows how to gamble.”

“A what?” He stared at her, trying to work out if he’d heard what she’d said correctly. 

Her cheeks went even pinker and her hand flew to her mouth. 

“I get it, don’t worry. I’m the bad guy. Far be it for me to know what’s going on around here.”

“No, it’s not that.” She shook her head for emphasis. “No one’s supposed to know. They don’t want to cause panic.”

“You’re not very good at keeping secrets.”

“Not from you at least.” 

His heart did a strange double beat. Even with the wind, the air felt thick and sticky. His fingers tingled. 

Here they were, alone, no one to see them. No reason to stay away from her. And she was so damned beautiful, like some painting, with the long wild hair and the pink cheeks and... lips. She was up against one of the merlons, a picture against the sweeping vista of the Frostbacks. He moved towards her. Her green eyes locked on his. 

“You trying to say you trust me?” he asked softly, with a smile so she knew he was teasing. Kind of. 

“Should I?” Her voice came out breathless and he knew she was caught in this same  _ thing _ , this moment where everything seemed to hang waiting. 

“Depends with what.” His pulse drummed louder than the wind as he leaned towards her. It was something primal that he could no more control than his rapid heartbeat, this need to feel her lips on his. But he moved slowly, giving her more than enough time to pull away should she will it. 

His face was inches from hers, he could hear her rapid breathing. He closed his eyes and…

Her hand on his chest. “Sorry.” The word, a whisper. Her breath still coming fast. “Sorry, I can’t.”

She ducked her head and pulled away. And then she was running back along the battlements. He took off after her. He’d misread the signs. He needed to apologise. 

“Celeste!” 

He caught up with her as she reached the stairs. He snatched her hand, pulling her around. A pulse of electricity shot up his arm and she slipped free as it fell limp, useless and painful to his side. 

She backed away from him, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes wide. “You’re too much like him,” she breathed. 

“Too much like who!” he called to her retreating back, cradling his arm.


	14. All but broken

One thing Cullen couldn’t deny about Orlais: it was beautiful. The inn sat on the edge of a forest, the afternoon sun streamed through the trees in golden beams, and in the other direction the ocean glinted, beckoning them home. But it was into the dark forest that their mission summoned them.

The trees were packed close at first, so close that Cullen doubted they’d be able to travel very far before their way was completely blocked. He had to cut aside a few smaller branches. Solana ducked and dived just ahead of him. She wore a cloak with a furred collar, despite the temperate weather, and carried a pack on her back and one at her side. Still, she was nimble. Oftimes he would have lost sight of her if not for the brightness of her hair against the green.

The forest opened out as they drew closer to the river. He heard it well before he saw it; water gushed down from the Arlesans hills, roaring and smelling like rain and earth. At first the sound was so loud as to be overwhelming, but as they moved up river he found he grew accustomed to it. Still, there was little need for talk as they navigated their way over tree roots and under thick aged branches. Cullen wouldn’t have been surprised if they stumbled upon an ancient elven temple. This was that kind of place.

When the shadows grew too thick, and the light too dim to safely navigate between the trees, Solana suggested they look for a place to camp.

A little away from the river, there was a small glade with dry, even ground that he submitted would possibly be a good spot. He expected her to argue, but she nodded and removed her pack.

He left her to set up the fire, knowing she could likely have done so in her sleep, while he pitched his tent. He stashed his pack safely within, and then offered to pitch hers. Again, she gave no protest. Perhaps travelling with her wouldn’t be quite as difficult as he’d imagined.

The night was full of song: birds, crickets, wild nugs. It was altogether quite pleasant. Solana produced a bottle of wine she’d brought from the inn and even offered to share it with him.

“What do you know about Arlesans?” she asked as the fire crackled, cooking their roast nug dinner.

“Not much, to be honest. My Orlesian geographical knowledge is somewhat lacking.”

Solana took a sip of the wine and passed him the bottle. “I came through this forest before. There are a few small villages we can stop at for supplies. Arlesans itself was overrun by darkspawn during the Third Blight. The Wardens had a heavy presence in the area. You remember when we were in the Western Approach? You couldn’t walk five miles without running into some Warden landmark? It’s a little like that.”

“And if Wardens are involved in this…”

“That’s what I’m thinking. They’ll have taken up residence in some old Warden ruin. I’d put good coin on it.”

Cullen tasted the wine. It wasn’t too bad for something you’d find in a roadside inn. He leaned back. The stars were bright overhead, and he could easily pick out the common constellations between the trees. “And when we find Anders, what then?”

“Then we reason with him.”

He handed her the wine and watched as she took another drink. She’d twisted her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck, but as usual much of it was escaping. “And if he can’t be reasoned with?”

“He will be. He’s not a monster.”

“That’s naive.”

She rolled her eyes and made a deep growling sound.

“Need I remind you what he did in Kirkwall?”

“Need I remind you he saved my life, and your daughter’s?”

_ Only because she put their lives in danger. _  He pressed his eyes closed, pushing the memory from his mind. “That’s hardly the same thing.”

“If we can convince him that the new Divine won’t bring back the Circles, he’ll have no reason to strike.”

“You mean lie to him?”

Solana stared at him and he righted himself. It took a moment for her to speak. “How can you be so certain the Circles will return?”

Of course, she didn’t know about Cassandra. Was he supposed to keep that secret? “How can you be so certain they won’t?”

“Because Leliana told me. Her personal assurance.”

“Oh, and what’s she going to do about it? Send spies in to change official documents? Assassinate anyone who votes pro-Circle?”

Solana squared her shoulders. “Leliana can assure me because she will be the one making the decision. She’s the next Divine.”

A range of more suitable responses rushed through Cullen’s head, but what came out was a bark of laughter. “She told you that?”

Solana nodded, eyebrows drawing together in suspicion.

“Cassandra’s the next Divine. I overheard her speaking with the Inquisitor.” He couldn’t resist adding, “I’m surprised he didn’t mention it to you. I assume that’s why he went off to the Frostback Basin.”

Solana’s expression was frozen. Still puzzled, searching the embers. “Leliana lied to me?”

_ Blast it. _  She looked positively heartbroken - not what he’d intended. “Leliana no doubt said what was necessary to get you here. I’m certain she lied to me too.”

_... I know you to be a master strategist and a man of principle. You are skilled with the sword, trained in survival... _

And he’d swallowed it. He wanted to reach out to Solana, offer her some measure of comfort, but he wasn’t sure the gesture would be welcomed.

“Cassandra will certainly bring back the Circles,” Solana said.

That had been his first thought too, when he’d initially heard the news. And now he could see Solana having the same doubts about her future, her position, as he had had. She was no longer a Grey Warden. Fiona had been thrown back into a Circle when she’d been cured. What was stopping them from doing the same to Solana? She was the Hero yes, but a powerful mage. And if word got out about what she’d done to save Alise...

“I won’t let them put you in a Circle again,” he said softly.

She startled, as if he’d shouted. Her eyes explored his face. “My mother didn’t want to let them either. She had power, influence, but they took me anyway…” She fidgeted with the sextant around her neck. “What if Alise is a mage?”

His gut churned at the thought. It had occurred to him before, of course. To his knowledge, Tranquility only ever happened to mages.

He’d removed magelings from their families as part of his duties as a Templar. Some families would hand over their children without protest. Their eyes would be glassy and sometimes members would glare at him from half-shuttered windows where they thought he couldn’t see. But some… screaming, crying, mothers clinging to their babes, begging him,  _ Please, she’s all I have. _

He’d had sympathy for them, but he’d felt safe in the knowledge that he was doing the right thing. He was protecting the family, and the mage. Yet now he was a father himself… the thought of someone coming and taking Alise from them, never to see her again or discover what became of her, was unbearable.

“Would you mind taking the first watch?” Solana asked. “I find I don’t have much of an appetite.”

He nodded and she passed him the wine as she headed out of the circle of firelight, into her tent.    
  


* * *

 

 

Samson paced from one side of the corridor to the other and back again. He ran his hands through his hair, cursed himself, and muttered what he intended to say again.

“Celeste, I’m sorry. No. Celeste, please forgive me.  _ Shit. _  Too desperate. Celeste, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable yesterday. _  Idiot. _  ‘Course you made her uncomfortable, she jolted you with her magic, didn’t she?” His arm still ached a little near the shoulder. “Celeste, I wanted to apologise for making you uncomfortable yesterday. I misread… things. I was out of line."  _ Yeah. I was out of line. _  "Celeste, I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable yesterday. I was out of line. I promise nothing like that will ever happen again.” He closed his eyes and drew a breath. “Do you think you can forgive me?”  _ Urgh, _  he hated the pitiful note in his voice, he’d have to try make it sound less pathetic. Even though he  _ was  _ pathetic. The thought of never talking to her again-

“Of course I can.”

He whipped around, so fast he almost fell over. Celeste was standing by the kitchen door, hands behind her back. He’d chosen the right place to wait for her, and the right time. He’d been uncertain when the dinner shift ended.

“I didn’t mean for you to hear all of that,” he said.

“Didn’t you?” She smiled. He supposed she was right. It was kind of amusing, in a way.

She bent to pick up a box of supplies. “If anyone should apologise it’s me.”

He rushed to help her. As he took the box from her hands, his fingers brushed hers. He nearly dropped the box, embarrassed, frightened she’d think it intentional. “No, you don’t. I was out of line.”

She pushed the pantry door open and he followed her inside. “I’m sorry, Samson. I didn’t mean to… lead you on. I know I did and it’s really not right.”

He set down the box, letting the door shut behind him. She lit an overhead lamp with her magic.

“It’s not your fault I’m a desperate fool.”

“You’re not.” She started packing glass jars out of the box. He wanted to help her, but wasn’t sure how, so he stood there like a dazed snoufleur.

“You said… you said I was too much like someone. May I ask who?”

She paused, fidgeting with the lid of one of the jars. The lamplight played over her features, making them difficult to read. “Ren’s father,” she said eventually. “He was… a Templar.”

“Ah.” What else could he say? The story was apparent. Forbidden love in the Circle, wasn’t the first time he’d seen it and it certainly explained the boy’s interest in swordplay. “May I ask what became of him?” He knew he was pressing her. She might throw him out. But at this stage, what did he have to lose?

“He died when Kinloch Hold fell during the Fifth Blight.”

“I see.” Now that was rough. He knew that as a blood mage from the Ferelden Tower she would have been partly responsible for that fall. He couldn’t imagine that, being responsible for the death of someone you loved. But he could kind of understand.  _ Maddox. _

“I thought perhaps I was over it,” she said, speaking down to the jar. “I thought enough time had passed. I’m so sorry, Raleigh.”

_ Raleigh _ , his first name. He liked the way she said it. “Hey, I’m the one who told you it was safer if we weren’t seen together. Maybe this is for the best.”

She nodded but she didn’t look at him. Her shoulders were slumped, her eyes downcast. No doubt she was remembering old heartbreak, and he’d brought that upon her. He felt the urge to hold her, but knew that was likely the very worst thing to do.

“Celeste?” His voice caught a little. “You know, I’m still here, regardless? If you want to, I don’t know, laugh about Rutherford or something? I’m always up for that.”

He was glad to see a small flicker of a smile. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

  
  
_ Hawke, _

 

_ I did as you asked, but your boy’s lying low. _

 

_ Here’s the thing though. Ran into some Grey Wardens, couple with Ferelden accents. So I thought, hey, maybe they know something. _

 

_ Turns out, they think Anders is dead. Sorry, wasn’t sure how to break it to you. _

 

_ They refused to give me more details. And I was very convincing. I’ll keep digging. _

 

_ Admiral Isabella _

 

_ \--- _

 

Hawke slammed the letter down on the bar with such force that it shook, spilling his drink.

“Bad news?” the man on the stool beside him asked.

Hawke growled. It was all he could manage. When he’d been handed the letter, and had seen it was from Isabella, he’d dared to feel hope. He’d thought this would bring him relief. Instead it only brought more worry.

What if he  _ was _  dead?

The man sighed and shook his head. “Got a fair few of those myself. It’s always tough, especially when you’re surrounded by strangers.” He had a lilting Starkhaven accent.

“Oh, really?” Hawke let his frustration leak into his voice. “You’ve also had letters telling you your lover might be dead, then?”

The words did not have the effect he’d thought. The man just shrugged. “Lovers, friends. Life of a soldier.”

The man  _was_  dressed like one of the Inquisition soldiers. He had tattoos down his chin and along the side of his nose. Hawke couldn’t remember seeing him before.

“I’m not a soldier,” Hawke said.

“You got a name, Not a Soldier? What are you drinking? Next round’s on me.”

Alright, definitely someone new. Hawke smirked and offered his hand. “Garrett Hawke.”

That  _ did _  have the effect he expected. The man’s eyes went large as he accepted his hand. “Rylen. You’re pretty infamous where I come from, Hawke.”

“I’m pretty infamous everywhere.”

Rylen gave a bark of laughter. “Modest too.”


	15. Hope and pride

Hawke stared up at the roof, and a starling stared back at him out of a gaping hole. 

The sky beyond was a pleasant pale blue and a gentle breeze shifted the leaves on a tree branch that looked like it had grown right through the roof and no one had thought to stop it. Hawke might have enjoyed the sight if he had any clue how he’d got there.

_ Where in the Void am I? _

It was difficult to think. His head felt twice its size and when he rolled onto his side a sharp pain stabbed at his eyeballs. He groaned, finding himself twisted in some standard-issue Inquisition sheets. 

Naked.

_ Oh.  _

Clothes. Where were his clothes? 

He found his underthings at the foot of the bed, a single boot near the only exit - a ladder down. Shit.

Gathering what he could of his dignity, he laced up his underclothes, took the boot in hand and descended the ladder. There wasn’t really much other option. 

He was still a bit groggy, so he made it halfway down before he noticed the _ room _ . His stomach clenched as he almost lost his grip. 

Cullen’s room. Cullen’s office. Which made that Cullen’s bed. He’d woken up in Cullen’s bed.  _ Oh shit.  _

“Good morning,” a deep voice said from the desk and Hawke squeaked in fright, hopefully soft enough that the other man didn’t hear him. Hawke hadn’t even seen him. 

It wasn’t Cullen. That was a relief.

“What am I doing in Cullen’s office?” he asked. 

The man smiled, flashing perfect pearly white teeth. “You mean you don’t remember?”

Beautiful voice. Starkhaven accent. Hawke remembered the large hand gripping his.  _ Rylen. You’re pretty infamous where I come from, Hawke. _

“Rylen.” Hawke’s mouth was as dry as the keep where this man hailed from. “Eh, pants?”

Rylen nodded to a chair where the rest of Hawke’s clothing was neatly piled, including the missing boot. Hawke climbed the rest of the way down the ladder, averting his eyes. His face was hot, he imagined he was bright red. Not the look he usually went for the morning after. Then again, it had been a long time, a very long time, since he’d had this kind of morning after. 

He retrieved his clothes. “Where’s Cullen?” His voice was higher pitched than he would have liked. 

“I told you last night, Cullen’s been called away. I’m standing in for him for the time being. You really don’t remember?” 

No Cullen. Thank Andraste for small mercies. But now that he said that, he did remember a little...

 

_ Pressed against the door, warm arms pinning him, lips on his, then stubble brushing his neck as a hot tongue slid along his collarbone. Rylen had reached past him to open the door. “This is Cullen’s office,” Hawke had said.  _

_ Rylen had walked backwards, leading Hawke. “Mine for now.” Further questions were cut off by fevered kissing. That’s when Hawke had lost his shirt. “You sure about this?” Rylen had asked against his ear. “We’re pretty blasted.” He’d laughed, a low rumble, and Hawke had said, “I’m sure.” _

 

“It’s coming back to me,” he said. 

Rylen had been watching him with some concern, but now he returned his attention to what he’d been doing before. Hawke’s heart stuttered. Lyrium. He’d been sitting at the desk preparing his morning dose of lyrium.

A fucking Templar. 

Quite literally.

Hawke sat down on the chair to pull on his boots, watching Rylen as he muttered something over the philter, then tossed his head back and gulped the contents. Hawke had heard about Templars taking lyrium each morning, but had never actually seen the ritual. It was less involved than he’d imagined. Then again, he had just caught the tail end of it. 

“So, last night... I might need your help filling in some blanks,” he said once Rylen started packing up the apparatus. 

Rylen chuckled, the sound sending a spear of heat down into Hawke’s belly. “What do you remember?” 

“You’re Rylen, you bought a round of drinks. And I remember the middle bit I think. When we, uh, got here.” 

“Only the middle bit?” Rylen asked. He moved his chair around so he was facing Hawke. There was no accusation or hurt in the question, if anything it was vaguely flirtatious. 

 

_ “You go up first,” He’d said. “That way I can catch you if you fall.” _

_ “How romantic.”  _

_ At the top of the ladder, waiting on the edge of the bed. Nervous shivers, the flush of alcohol and adrenaline. A moment to think, but wanting so badly not to. Then Rylen appearing, pulling off his own shirt and revealing chiseled tanned muscles, broad shoulders. So very different from Anders. A demonic grin, followed by strong arms around him. Lips joined. Getting lost in taste and touch. Being touched again. Gentle affection despite the fact that they had just met. Rylen had pulled away again to ask, “You’re certain you want to do this?”  _

_ “Yes.” Hawke had tugged him closer giving him a grin of his own.  _

 

Hawke cleared his throat. “Alright, the middle and the, eh, end. Not the beginning.”

Rylen leaned forward slightly. “Well I’m relieved to hear it. That you remember the most interesting part, I mean. I’m no storyteller, so I doubt I’d quite capture it.” The smile again, completely open. He didn’t seem the least bit ashamed of or embarrassed by what had happened between them. “Well, we had a few rounds at the bar, then went upstairs at your suggestion.”

Hawke nodded. “A little more private.” He remembered that. 

“Right, then you wanted to talk about Anders.”

_ Really?  _ “Maker, sorry.” 

Rylen waved it off. “No, it’s alright. You had a lot to get off your chest.” 

What had he said? Had he mentioned the phylacteries? “How did we go from  _ that _ to this?” Hawke glanced at the top of the ladder for emphasis. 

“Well, we moved onto other topics eventually. And don’t worry, you didn’t make me buy all of the drinks.” Rylen  _ winked  _ and Hawke’s stomach flipped. 

 

_ “I’ll get this round!” The bar had bobbed in front of Hawke’s face and he tried to reach for it to hold it still, but Rylen held him back. “No more rounds, I think some fresh air is in order.”  _

_ Hawke had tried to shake him off. “Please. You bought the last three. I’m not. I’m not like that. Want to carry my own - not hanging around at the bar waiting for handsome strangers to buy me drinks, that’s not me.”  _

_ “Handsome am I? Now I know for certain you’ve had too much.”  _

 

“Then the battlements,” Hawke said. 

 

_ Cool wind against his cheeks, his head starting to clear. Heart pounding as they walked. Dread that Rylen was taking him home. He didn’t want the night to be over. But they’d found an alcove on the walls where the wind wasn’t so bad. Stars overhead and glowing campfires down in the valley. They talked until the campfires were out, about nothing and everything, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder. _

 

Rylen nodded again. “And then the kiss.” His voice went extra low when he said that. His eyes twinkled. 

 

_ Rylen had been the first to rise. “Well, I should get to bed. The troops will need me up early tomorrow.” Hawke had tugged him back down and kissed him.  _

_ They hadn’t exchanged more words until they’d reached Cullen’s office, and that must have been an hour later.  _

 

Hawke touched his lips self-consciously. “I feel the need to clarify that I’m not usually like this.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t make a habit of jumping into bed with men I’ve just met either. It was an enjoyable night, though. As enjoyable as it was unexpected.”

Enjoyable, yes, but Hawke’s chest felt tight. Aside from the pounding headache, there was the growing disquiet. He’d been with someone. Someone not Anders. While Anders was Maker knows where, in Maker knows what state, possibly dead or dying. And if Anders came back, or contacted Hawke… how would he deal if he found out Hawke had been with someone else? A Templar no less? How would Justice react?

It made Hawke feel dizzy. He scrubbed his face with his hands. “Thank you. I should... I should go.” 

“Anders?” Rylen asked, as if reading his mind. His eyebrows were drawn together, his kind eyes - such kind eyes - were searching Hawke’s face.

Hawke’s insides jolted, conflicting emotions tearing at him. 

“You haven’t betrayed anyone,” Rylen said in that beautiful voice of his. “Anders left you, Hawke.”

Hawke rose to his feet. “How can you stand to look at me?” The words fell out of his mouth, the swelling tide of his emotions starting to sweep him away. “You saw what happened to Kirkwall, what we did. You’re a Templar for Andraste’s sake.” 

“And by  _ we _ you mean what Anders did.” 

“I stood with him, or did Cullen leave out that part?” 

“You stood with the man you loved, there is no shame in that.” 

“I did… more than that.” Hawke pulled at the roots of his hair, willing the pain in his head and his chest to stop. “I was complicit. I helped him build the… I helped him distract the…” 

Rylen’s large hands gripped Hawke’s shoulders. An anchor, bringing him back to himself. “You were tricked. You told me all of this last night.”

“Well, perhaps I was trying to seduce you,” Hawke said. 

Rylen’s mouth quirked upwards. “Even if that were the case, you’d still be the Champion of Kirkwall. You are more than him.”

Hawke realised he was breathing heavily. He swallowed, trying to gain control of himself again. “Varric will be flattered that you’ve read his book.” 

Rylen raised his eyebrows. “Which book is that?”

“Tales of the Champion?” 

Rylen shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a reader. Shameful, I know. Listen, Hawke, I can see you’re working through some things.” He let go of Hawke’s shoulders and moved back to the desk. “I like you. That much should be obvious. I like you a lot, in fact. But I understand that might not be what you need right now.” He leaned against Cullen’s desk. “So, let me put it like this. I am here if you need an ear to talk things over with. I am here if you want more. And if you want neither.” He shrugged. “No hard feelings. You set the pace on this.”

 

* * *

 

 

Solana rested her hands on her hips. “You ready?” 

Cullen rose from his crouch by the river, holding a canteen. “Almost.”

She shook her head. “You realise we’ll be travelling along the river? If there’s one thing we won’t run low on it’s water.”

“You never know what might happen. I intend to be prepared.”

He leaned down again to fill another canteen. A breeze ruffled his hair and whispered through the canopy above them. It was the perfect weather for travelling. Clear and cool. Solana couldn’t find it in herself to be annoyed. If anything, he was endearing. 

He straightened, offered her a self-conscious smile. Her heart constricted. This was her husband. Out here, the last few months seemed like a horrible dream. She wished they could step through some portal and go back to before Alise was born. They’d still have to face so much, but perhaps she’d do better the second time around. 

Alise… Alise would love it out here. Solana could hardly bear to think of her baby, her precious girl. How was she coping with the distance? Was the nurse handling her okay? 

She tried not to let on how her breasts ached, or how her robes chafed, as they journeyed onwards. She knew Cullen was right, she should be at home with their child. But then who would stop Anders? Who would save the mages of Ferelden if not their Hero? 

Cullen walked slightly ahead today, undistracted by uncooperative anatomy. He cut a clear path with his sword, in seemingly lazy movements that she knew held much strength. Could he save Ferelden’s mages? Possibly. She had every faith in his abilities. But the truth was that she could not bear the thought of him going into danger alone. 

He came to a sudden halt and held up a hand to stop her. If he’d been a dog, his ears would have been pricked. As it was, he tilted his head slightly to the side. 

She heard it too. Something up ahead, moving through the forest along the river as they were, but heading in their direction. More like multiple somethings, moving as a group. Friend or foe? Her heart pounded. It was impossible to tell. Did they hide, flee or wait? 

Then it hit her. The carrion stench.

She dived for Cullen, pulling him sideways into the brush. He struggled at first, making a small startled sound, but to his credit he quietened down and followed her lead, backing further into the vegetation as the other party approached. 

Solana crouched low, not even daring to breathe. Through the leaves and branches, she saw their legs first. Darkspawn. If she’d still been a Warden, she would have sensed them. Now her nose had alerted her too late for them to get safely away. 

From the armour, she counted a hurlock, two genlocks and one hurlock alpha. 

One benefit of being unable to sense them was that they couldn’t sense her either. Perhaps they’d move past? They walked a little further. Sweat dripped down her neck. Further.  _ What were darkspawn doing out here anyway? _ Further… they stopped. There was some excitement, and then they started moving back towards her hiding place. _ No! _

Solana moved her head ever so slightly to position her mouth over Cullen’s ear. “They found our tracks,” she breathed. “I’ll strike first. Be ready.” 

She tried to slip away from him, but his gloved hand clamped around her wrist. He shook his head violently, mouthing, “No.”

Didn’t he see they had no choice? Even as they deliberated, the darkspawn moved closer. She tried to tug her arm free, but his grip was hard as dragon bone. He was glaring at her as if  _ she _ was the one being irrational. Fine, if that’s how he wanted to do things. With her other hand, she picked up a stick. She threw it behind them, further into the forest. 

The darkspawn whooped and hissed and crashed through the bracken. They were still coming closer. Cullen’s eyes went wide. 

“Let. Me. Go.” Solana said, hardly worried now whether the darkspawn would find them. They’d be upon them in seconds. 

“You’re insane,” he hissed back. 

She tugged her arm again and thankfully he either let go or his grip slipped. Free to run, she barreled through the trees, towards where she’d thrown the stick. Leaves and twigs slapped against her face, the undergrowth threatened to trip her, but she surged onwards. She heard the sounds of pursuit behind her. _ Good. _

She ran until her lungs ached, until they were gaining on her, then she ducked behind a tree and cast Celeste’s invisibility spell. 

Three seconds to catch her breath. 

Their boots pounded across the forest floor, and stopped. Silence. Confused grunting. She moved out from behind the tree slowly, heart in her throat. They didn’t seem to notice her, although they were looking around with interest. If she could just get back to Cullen without them seeing her-

“Solana!”

Cullen came crashing through the bush. He was red-faced, panting, and entirely obvious. Every one of the darkspawn turned to him. 

Colour drained from Cullen’s face, his grip tightened on his sword. 

With no time to think, Solana leapt at the closest genlock, an archer, and used her staff to choke it. “Get the big guy!” she commanded Cullen. 

He lifted his sword just in time to block an attack by the alpha. She cast a barrier over him, while clinging on to the archer for all she was worth. 

The other genlock came roaring at her, swinging a large, crooked axe. She cast Chain Lightning through her staff and it speared off in a dozen separate directions, including Cullen’s. She couldn’t see him, so she hoped her barrier had held. The lightning had the desired effect. It slowed the approaching genlock, and made the one she clung to more pliant. Now they smelled like death  _ and _ burnt meat. She flung her weight to the side, maneuvering the horrid thing so her staff faced its cousin. Magic pulsed from her hand, up through the rune - which glowed briefly red - before it slammed into the genlock, and sent him flying backwards, with a hole in his chest. 

Good thing she’d never bothered to swap out that cleansing rune. 

_ Her  _ genlock yowled and then she was catapulted backwards onto the forest floor. The breath whooshed out of her as she slammed into the ground. The genlock turned, bearing down on her, training an arrow on her face. She thrust out her hand, cast Winter’s Grasp and froze it in place. She scrambled to her feet, heaving in air. Where was the hurlock? 

Cullen was backed against a tree, trying to fight both of the remaining darkspawn. Solana was still struggling to get enough air into her lungs, but she cast at the hurlock. Arcane energy bounced off its armour, but it was enough to get its attention. It rounded on her, opening its toothy mouth to laugh.

“Funny is it? Come here and we’ll see how funny you find my magic.”

The skeletal form advanced towards her, black blighted skin dripping from its bones. Solana shifted her staff from hand to hand. She could feel her energy, her link to the Fade growing stronger. The hurlock raised one mighty arm. Its weapon glinted in the dappled light, primed to cleave her. 

She cast through her staff again, aiming for the arm. 

A scream of agony. The smell of smoke. The creature fell to its knees to claw at the place where its arm had been. She gathered energy for another strike, the one that would end it. 

“Solana!” 

She ducked automatically at Cullen’s warning shout. An arrow whistled past her face. The genlock had come unfrozen prematurely. She whipped around, her primed spell flying into the archer instead of its original target. 

Something seized her arm. She crashed backwards, losing her grip on her staff. The hurlock leaned over her, dripping its blighted blood from what was left of its shoulder. She pressed her mouth closed, tried to twist away from the deadly liquid, heart kicking with the realisation that she was no longer immune. She felt blindly for her staff. A giant blade hovered just above her face. The hurlock grinned.

She cast ice, in a last-ditch effort to halt that blade. Cold chased across the hurlock’s frame as the blade came down. Not enough ice, not solid enough, not- The arm tumbled to the side as a silverite sword sliced it off at the shoulder. The hurlock just had time to look startled before its head followed its arm. The body collapsed on top of Solana.

“Solana!’ Cullen rolled the corpse off her and fell to his knees beside her. 

“No, don’t!” she jerked out of his way as he reached for her. “Don’t touch the blood.” She scrambled upright, wiping her mouth and face with her sleeve until there was no chance of any blight finding its way into her. She spat for safety. “ _ Yech _ , didn’t think I’d be doing that again.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Cullen was still kneeling beside her. Was he hurt? She scanned his face, all the small exposed parts of him, didn’t see any blood. “Solana!” He seized her arm and shook her. “What were you thinking? You’re not immune anymore!”

“I know that, Cullen.”

“You’re not acting like it!” He gestured to her bloodied clothes for emphasis. 

Yes, dismemberment had worked better when she’d carried the Taint. The fact that she no longer did may have slipped her mind in the heat of the battle. Still. “What was I supposed to do? Sit waiting for them to find us?”

“They may not have! They may have passed!”

“I told you they picked up our tracks.”

“You’re guessing.”

“I know darkspawn!”

“Here we go again.” He threw out his arms. “‘I’m the Hero of Ferelden. Don’t bother worrying about me. I’m bloody immortal!’” 

She clambered to her feet. “Why is it so difficult for you to acknowledge my skill?”

“This has nothing to do with your skill!” He also rose.

“I’m a mage and I’m a good fighter. You can’t bear that.” 

“This has nothing to do with you being a mage!”

“Oh really? So if I was, say,  Bull or Rylen, you’d still be yelling at me?”

“I’m not yelling!”

It was almost humorous, his expression as he realised he was, in fact, yelling. If there were other darkspawn nearby, they’d almost certainly drawn their attention. 

Cullen dropped his voice. “If it was Bull or Rylen, they wouldn’t have run off into the forest like that.” 

“I was leading the darkspawn away from  _ you _ .” 

“Why? No, don’t tell me, I know. Because I’m not the Hero of Ferelden. Maker forbid I stand and fight with you shoulder-to-shoulder.”

She almost growled her answer. “ _ Because _ I was going to use _ magic  _ to  _ sneak _ back past them.You remember the spell. Mysterious blackberries?” 

He had the decency to look slightly abashed at that. He pressed his lips together, glancing down at the hurlock blood slowly pooling at their feet. “How was I meant to know that was your plan?”

“You were  _ meant _ to trust me.” 

“How can I trust you not to get yourself killed when you keep trying to at every opportunity?”

She raked a hand through her hair, no doubt smearing bits of hurlock through it. “If I truly keep trying to kill myself, how come I’m still here?” 

“Because I keep getting in your way.” He shoved his sword into the ground with finality and turned from her. “We should gather wood, burn the bodies. We don’t want the blight spreading.” 

She bit her tongue before she said something sarcastic and uncalled for. He was right about this, even if he was wrong about everything else. “These things came from somewhere. I’d like to try find where.” 

“I’d rather not lose the daylight.” Cullen prodded at the hurlock alpha with his boot. It was sprawled with a deep gash in its stomach, just below the armoured plating of its torso. 

“And I’d rather not be slaughtered by darkspawn in my sleep,” she shot back. 

He raised his eyes to meet hers. She could see anger still simmering beneath the surface of his gaze. “I’d suggest you set a ward, but I suppose that won’t work.”

A dig at Anders getting to the phylacteries. It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. Anders was powerful, but certainly he wasn’t  _ that _ powerful. Perhaps her wards  _ had _ been weak.

She shook her head. “I’m going to go wash.” Wouldn’t do to get infected with the blight so soon after being rid of it. “If you need me, just... follow my phylactery.” He’d kept it, after all. 

He called her name as she trudged away, but she didn’t look around.


	16. Battle lines

Solana submerged herself in the clear water and breathed out all the air in her lungs, sending forth a spray of small bubbles. Her hair danced around her like some tentacled sea creature. The corruption bled from it, twisting like smoke. When her lungs were empty she rose, feeling slightly lightheaded and much calmer. This part of the river was still; the water gathered in shallow pools along the edges, sunlight sparkled off the ripples and birdsong… no birdsong.

She shook her head and leaned from side to side to make sure her ears weren’t blocked. A cool wind teased across the treetops. She could hear that. But no birds. 

She sank down again, keeping only her nostrils and eyes above the water and scanning the banks for threats. Her staff was leaning against a tree beside her clothes, not far away.  But on the other side of the river, something moved.

 

* * *

 

 

The ring of steel being hammered echoed at the other end of the armory as Samson fastened on a padded chestplate. 

“Ser Samson, may I ask you something?” 

Samson strapped the final piece of padding over his forearm. Ren mimicked him, biting on his lower lip in concentration as he struggled to fasten a buckle with his left hand.

They were alone in a corner of the armory. The other children hadn’t yet discovered that this was where they prepared for their lessons. 

“‘Course,” Samson said, reaching to help Ren with the buckle. 

Ren allowed his assistance, but didn’t look up and continued chewing on his lip. “I was talking to some of the…” His mouth formed a line and he nodded decisively. “Me and some of the others were talking. And they said some things.”

Was the adjusted phrasing Ren’s attempt to talk tough? Samson tried not to show his amusement. “The others, eh? And who are the others? Other boys your age?

Ren’s attention shifted to the forge fires. “Yeah. Well.... Older than me. But not by much! Ant is only half a year older.”

“I see.” 

Ren squirmed. “Thing is, they were saying some things about you.” 

_ Ah. _ Samson’s stomach writhed. It had been bound to happen at some stage. He’d imagined that Celeste would be the one to broach the subject with her son, but it seemed he’d heard it from elsewhere first. 

Ren’s gaze darted up to meet his briefly, before landing on his feet. “Ser Samson… they said you helped Corypheus. That you’re a bad man. I told them it was lies. They made me ask Ser Dennett.” 

The curmudgeon of a stablemaster. “I think it’s  _ Master _ Dennet, Ren.”

Ren scratched at his neck. “He said it was true.” His voice was tiny. 

Samson went cold. “It is true, Ren.” 

Ren’s large eyes looked up into his. “I don’t understand.” It seemed like he was about to cry. 

Samson felt like the breath had been knocked out of him. He hadn’t realised how much the boy’s trust had mattered to him. Now he’d lost it. And he only had himself to blame.

He swallowed. “I made some mistakes. I did some bad - terrible - things. I thought that’s all I was good for. But then I met your mum. She told me that there was worthiness in me, that I could change.”

Ren was still staring at him. “But Corypheus nearly killed mom. She wrote… when Haven was attacked, and there was a dragon. There were Red Templars and they filled the town and she was fighting with the Hero of Ferelden and the Red Templars nearly killed them but then Commander Cullen came and saved them.”

_ Red Templars nearly killed them. _ Maker. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known that they’d been on opposite sides. It wasn’t like he didn’t remember that night, when he’d commanded his vast army and had been absolutely certain in his victory. He remembered staring down the rise, Corypheus at his side, looking straight at Cullen in his ridiculous feathery surcoat and thinking, _ Finally _ .  _ Finally I am the superior one.  _

He drew his arms to his chest, noticing they were shaking. “That is all true,” he said. 

Ren blinked. His brow furrowed. “Mikel said you commanded the Red Templars.”

Mikel must have been one of the boys. “I did.” 

“So,  _ you _ tried to kill mom.”

Samson swallowed again. The urge to flee from this conversation was almost overwhelming, but that would be cowardly and would accomplish nothing. “Yeah.”

“Why aren’t you in the dungeon?”

Fair enough question. “I was. Your mum used to visit me and she convinced Commander Cullen that I’d be more useful out here, helping to train his men to survive fighting people like me.” 

“Why did she do that if you tried to kill her?” The hurt and confusion were now permeating the boy’s voice so that it cracked and splintered. 

“I don’t know, lad.”

Ren fell silent, staring at his knees. 

Samson exhaled and shook his head. “Sometimes the world doesn’t make as much sense as we’d like. I could give you excuses for what I did, tell you I was hungry or scared or angry. But the truth is, I was wrong and what I did was wrong. I am… deeply sorry for what nearly happened you your mum.”

Ren brushed at his cheek.  _ Shit _ , he’d made the boy cry.  

He shifted forward to put a comforting hand on Ren’s shoulder, but then thought better of it. “Look, I’d understand if you don’t want to do our lessons anymore.”

Ren sniffled. “Mikel will laugh at me. Say ‘told you so’.” 

That was the second mention of that name. “Who is this Mikel?”

“One of the boys. He’s the leader.”

The alpha brat in Skyhold’s pack, no doubt. And Ren was the new kid. Tough, that. “And you care about what he thinks?” 

“He said I shouldn’t learn the sword. That I’m too weak and funny to watch. Also he said I wouldn’t want to learn the sword when I found out the truth. Because no one wants to train with a… doesn’t matter.”

The lad was still trying to spare Samson’s feelings at this juncture. Yeah, his mother’s son, through and through.

“Ren, you’ve never picked up a sword in your life before now. 'Course you’re gonna struggle. I struggled at first too.”

“But you were a Templar.” 

“Yeah, I was. And a fine one at that.” Celeste would probably be unhappy about this, but it seemed like the best time to ask. He found himself lowering his voice, as if concerned Celeste might overhear. “Do  _ you _ wish to be a Templar?” 

Ren’s eyes rose to Samson’s face as if he’d said the most shocking thing. But after only a second’s hesitation, he nodded. 

“Unusual choice for the son of an apostate.” Samson attempted a smile. 

Ren returned it. It wasn’t much as far as smiles went, but it was definitely better than crying. “My father was a Templar. I know with the war and everything… some Templars went bad and they wanted to hurt the mages. I don’t want to be one of them. I… I want to help people. I want to be a hero. Like in the stories. I want to go on adventures, hunt down evil, fight dragons, find relics.”

Sweet, naive, kid. “You don’t have to be a Templar to do those things.” 

“Yeah, but Templars have powers.”

“Heh. Power at a price. There’s always a price for that kind of thing. Anyways, how d’you know you’re not going to be a mage like your mum? Mages have powers.”

“I hope I’m not.”

Samson couldn’t blame him. The last decade - the entirety of Ren’s life so far - had been a terrible time for mages. “Well, if you want to be a Templar - or any kind of hero, mind - you’re going to need to learn a weapon. It’s going to take time, and dedication. Now, I understand if you don’t want to learn with me after our chat here, but you can’t stop just because you’re not good at it yet. That, I won’t accept.”

He unsheathed his sword and held it out to Ren. Ren looked at it skeptically. “You won’t tell mum will you? About what I want to be?” 

“It’s just between you and me.” 

Ren’s small hand fastened around the sword hilt. “I want to train with you. I like you. Even if you did bad things before.”

Samson tried not to grin like an idiot when he responded, “I’m fond of you too, lad.”

 

* * *

 

 

Cullen tossed the final darkspawn arm onto the heap. He swore at it, like he’d sworn at the others. A litany of things he’d never say in public that were directed at his absent wife as much as they were at the darkspawn. Although, he’d never actually say them to her either. 

A crash from the trees behind him had him reaching for his sword again, and spinning. Throat contracting, heart slamming. If it was more darkspawn and he had to face them alone-

But no. It was Solana. A dripping Solana with hair hanging in wet ropes and robes clinging to her… clinging to… He swallowed. She said something that he didn’t quite hear. She hadn’t bothered to do up the buttons down the front of her robe. Her collarbone, the curve of her breasts, everything down to her navel was displayed in a neat triangle of soft flesh. 

“If we leave now we might be able to close it before night fall,” she said. 

He snapped his attention back to what she was saying. “Sorry, what?” 

“The Deep Roads seal.” She looked at him like he was dim. 

_Deep Roads what?_ “Perhaps you should start again.” 

She sighed, and crossed her arms, blocking his view (probably for the best). “I saw darkspawn moving along the other side of the river - don’t worry, I was careful. They’re coming and going from an entrance to the Deep Roads. There’s a Warden seal there, but it’s broken.”

“You intend for us to fix it? Solana, we have a mission already.” He gestured to the mound of darkspawn bodies with firewood propped around it. “We’ve been delayed enough as is.” 

Solana waved a hand casually and the mound burst into flames. “It won’t take us far off course,” she said, as if she’d done nothing at all. 

“And how many darkspawn are we talking? How do we even know how many are out in the forest, ready to come up behind us? As impressive as your abilities are, we are still just two people.”

“I was thinking about that,” she said, turning around. Her robes hid very little as they clung to her wet skin and he cleared his throat and pulled his eyes away from her. 

She drew in the ground with her staff. “Two phase attack. Phase one is to draw their attention. We bring those that are out in the forest back with a threat of some kind. I’m thinking fire. I have some Antivan grenades in my pack.” They still had to retrieve their packs from where they’d initially encountered the darkspawn. “Then, we launch a second attack on whoever’s still outside. I repair the seal so they can’t get back in. We finish them off.”

He peered at her diagram. It was nothing more than a number of arrows. “We’re still jmerely two people. I suggest we mark the location on a map and tell the Wardens about it when we find them. They can come fix it. It’s their duty, not ours.”

“Not yours, maybe.” Solana’s eyes flicked to his. “I’m a Warden in every sense except the Taint. I took vows.” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Solana…”

“Besides, these darkspawn are a threat to anyone travelling through these woods. What about the neighbouring towns? We can’t in good conscience just leave it.”

“We may have little choice. We’re outnumbered. Four of those things nearly-”

“But this time we’re prepared.”

Cullen closed his eyes and prayed to Andraste for mercy. 

 

***

 

It took three hours to get set up. Three valuable hours that they could have - should have - been travelling. Cullen’s breath stopped whenever Solana wove between the trees to place the traps. She was using Celeste’s stealth spell, which meant that he could only see her as long as his gaze followed her. 

There were many more darkspawn moving along the bank than he’d anticipated. He’d counted nine. If it came to a fight, he wasn’t certain that was survivable. But Solana was right in one respect, _ they  _ at least stood a chance. The average traveller would not. 

He jumped as she slipped into visibility beside him. “I’ve put down ice mines around the edges, hidden in the grass. We should have warning if anyone comes up from behind. There’s a trap rigged to spill pitch across the entrance. It should slow down anyone rushing out.”

“Good,” he said. Just the nine to worry about then.

“We should move before someone triggers the mines.” 

He nodded. 

They snuck quietly out from their hiding place. They’d crossed in the shallows downriver and had stashed their packs safely away from the fighting. This attack had to be stealthy. It was all well and good for Solana with her spell, but Cullen was wearing full armour. Even his movements were loud. So, when they crouched down behind abush much closer to the darkspawn, Solana pressed a jar into his hand. In it swirled a purple mist that glowed faintly with strange alchemy. A confusion grenade - one of Morrigan’s contributions to the Inquisition. He nodded his thanks. 

Together, they peered through the bushes at their enemy.  

The Deep Roads entrance itself seemed to be cleaved from the side of a knoll. It was not unlike the unassuming exit from Kinloch’s tunnels that Anders had shown them, but with an ancient tree growing in a tangle of gnarled branches over it. The darkspawn had set up a small camp in front of the entrance with one of their leather tents and a small campfire - cold at the moment. What did they even use campfires for? They didn’t eat as far as he knew. And what in the world were they even doing up here? Cullen recalled a year or so back, he’d discovered similar incursions on the Storm Coast and the Inquisitor had taken Dorian to sort them out. It was concerning and he hoped - prayed - it wasn’t the first sign of another Blight. Maker knows, Thedas had enough troubles. 

There was a hurlock apha at the entrance, a couple of hurlocks on patrol and some smaller genlocks busy around camp. They were repulsive even to watch. This close the stench of their rot was almost overwhelming. 

“I’ll go for the hurlocks,” Solana whispered. “You get the genlocks with the grenade and attack the-”

“Alpha directly, I know.” 

They’d discussed strategy at length already. Solana started to rise, but he seized her arm as another darkspawn creature appeared, sniffing the air. Solana swore. 

“That’s a shriek. Change of plan. We move fast, you get him first.”

He didn’t think to argue. That she knew darkspawn was not in doubt. “Alright. And the Alpha?” 

“I’ll figure something out.”

“Solana...” 

She glanced at him, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Do you think you can get some of the genlocks with the grenade too?” 

“I can certainly try. You’re not thinking of taking the Alpha on alone are you?” 

The shriek sniffed the air again and looked towards them. Cullen knew there was little time to argue. 

“Not entirely.” She grinned and shifted a fire grenade from hand to hand. “I’ll disable him. You confuse the minions and go for the shriek. Then I’ll lead the minions to the mines and you finish the Alpha off.”

“What about the entrance?” 

“Shit. Okay. Let me think.”

Cullen shook his head. “You disable the Alpha, then seal the entrance. I’ll keep the minions and the shriek occupied…”

“I’ll try freeze a few.”

“Right. Then I’ll finish the Alpha.”

She nodded and smiled again. Her joy was palpable. She inclined her head a little as she said, “Good luck, Commander.”

“Good luck, Hero.” 

She faded as she cast her spell, and ran out from behind the bush, darting through the middle of the camp. Only the shriek seemed vaguely aware of her. It screamed at the air, tracking her, and Cullen’s whole being tensed. But the thing made no move to follow Solana and the other darkspawn paid it no mind. 

He waited, trying to find the pool of calm within that he always lectured his men to focus on before going into battle. The exercise proved utterly futile. His pulse would not still so long as Solana was out there making herself vulnerable. Her grenade launched into the air, twinkling as it cut a broad arch before it met the ground in an explosion of flame. The pitch trap triggered. Black goo rained down upon the flames, and they ate it hungrily, growing higher and higher.  

The effect was akin to kicking an ant hill. The darkspawn ran, in no discernible direction, and Cullen recognised his cue. He took off towards the highest concentration of darkspawn, but he hadn’t accounted for the smoke. It stung his eyes and burned his throat. He knew his grenade had landed only when twisted purple smoke joined with the black smoke of Solana’s fire. It was quite the challenge to stay clear of it as each darkspawn it touched started shooting or striking out randomly at his fellows.

Cullen tried to make out Solana in the mess, but he couldn’t see her and there was no time. He held his hand over his nose and mouth and ran through the chaos, aiming for where the shriek had been. It was no longer there. He spun around, squinted through the smoke.

He spotted Solana.

She was in the tree.

She hung over the alpha, aiming her staff at its head.

Something barrelled into Cullen and he lost his footing. A swift roll to the side was all that saved him from being pierced by a giant claw. The shriek had found  _ him _ . The air pulled taut around him as a barrier glimmered into place.  _ Thank you, Solana.  _ Hopefully the spell hadn’t cost her valuable time. The shriek screamed again, and the reason for its name was evident. Cullen scrambled backwards, blocked another strike with his shield, and turned as it struck a third time, throwing it off balance. He drove upwards with his sword and felt the satisfying crunch of armour giving way to flesh.

“Cullen, watch out!”

He dived into a roll automatically. A genlock ran at him from the Deep Roads entrance, waving a crooked axe. Its momentum carried it past him, and he was able to stab it behind the shoulder. It fell to its knees as the injured shriek made a dive for Cullen. There was no way to avoid it. It ploughed into him, sending him sprawling. His ears rang, and he managed to twist his face away as the shriek’s sharp teeth came for his throat.  _ Get up. _ He dug his elbow into the ground and wrapped his other arm and leg around the putrid thing, forcing it over onto its back. Sitting astride it, he stabbed down into its chest again and again, gasping for breath. It gave one final shriek and was still.

With an instant to look around, he saw Solana was riding on the Alpha’s shoulders dodging the swings of its gigantic sword with ease. From her vantage point, she was able to shoot ice spells at the remaining darkspawn.

_ Boom crack, boom crack.  _ Her ice mines triggered one after the other. Whatever reinforcements had been about in the woods had just arrived. Cullen climbed to his feet and readied himself. Solana cast a barrier over them both, and sent a final ice spell down through her  _ steed. _ With the Alpha frozen solid, she climbed down.   
  


She wiped the hair out of her eyes with one hand and tossed him something with the other. Thank the Maker he caught it, because it turned out to be another fire grenade. Before he could say anything, she’d turned and started casting in front of the entrance. 

The reinforcements were not as impressive as he’d feared. A rabble of genlock approached, limping already thanks to Solana’s mines. He aimed the grenade at the centre of the group. Only two of the lot managed to stumble out of the flames and he cut them down easily enough. 

Another  _ crack s _ ounded behind him and he turned, already swinging at the Alpha. At the same instant that his sword hit home, the Alpha exploded. Shards of iced darkspawn flew across their measly camp. Solana stood in front of the repaired Warden seal with her staff in her hand and a grin on her face. 

There was complete silence. They were surrounded by scattered bodies and body parts. The darkspawn hadn’t stood a chance. 

“Good work,” Cullen said, offering Solana his own smile. 

“We make a pretty good team,” she said. Her eyes darted to her feet, self consciously. She was streaked with darkspawn blood again. Her hair had frizzed as it had dried. She’d done up her robes, of course, and put on some protective leather over them. She looked like a Alamarri warrior queen. The tug of desire for her in the pit of his stomach was raw and primal. He controlled himself.   
  
“We should probably wash,” he said. _ Separately.   _


	17. The fire inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably put this here: Views of the characters do not necessarily represent those of the author. The author loves all the characters and wants to put them in a puppy pile and snuggle them. Sometimes people have unreasonable views and do unreasonable things. Even good people. Especially when they haven't had the best time of it in recent years. Okay, hopefully that's sufficiently vague, and will make sense at the right times in the next few chapters. I'll get on with the story! :)

Hawke told himself he would not visit Rylen again. 

One night, he could handle. He’d been good at those back in the day, back when it was spend a night in a stranger’s embrace or on the floor of Gamlen’s hovel listening to Carver snore and being drooled on by the dog. Working for a year as a mercenary in a city that couldn’t stomach mages had been good for building muscle. Couple that with living on scraps, and he’d had the physique of a god. Or so the passing dalliances had loved to tell him. It had never been difficult to find a warm place to sleep. 

Then he’d met Anders. Anders with his sorrowful eyes and gigantic heart, who had forgone sleep entirely in order to keep sick refugees alive. Anders with his tragic past and his  _ desperate  _ need to be loved. 

When they’d eventually slept together, Anders had clung to him like his life had depended on never being apart again. He had whispered truths he’d been too afraid to share before, how he’d dreamed of Hawke, how he’d never imagined Hawke returning his affections, how he’d loved Hawke secretly from afar for oh so long. 

There was never any chance of that being a one night thing. Anders would come to him night after night, at whatever odd hours his clinic closed. Sometimes he’d be streaked with blood and Hawke would be terrified that some of it was his. Eventually he learned that the blood wasn’t merely that of his patients. Sometimes it belonged to templars who had tried to stop him rescuing mages, sometimes it belonged to mages who hadn’t made it out of the Gallows unharmed. Anders was Darktown’s healer, but Hawke was Anders’s. He’d clean him and feed him and hold him. He’d try and kiss away the horrors. He knew now that he never quite succeeded. 

There hadn’t been a stranger since their first night together. 

Now there had been. Rylen, with his easy smile, his lyrical voice, and kisses that demanded nothing in return. 

Hawke told himself that Rylen was no more to him than the strangers he’d taken comfort in during that first year in Kirkwall. It had been a good night together, a _ very  _ good night together, but that was all. It wasn’t a betrayal just to seek comfort, was it? 

Problem was, Rylen hadn’t left his mind since.

 

Hawke cleared his throat and Varric looked up from the parchment where he was frantically scribbling. The hall around them was loud and far too hot. He didn’t know how Varric could write here. 

“You have a minute? I need to talk.”

Varric gave him a lopsided smile. “Anyone else who interrupted me in the middle of a good scene would have the Void to pay. But you know I’m available any time for you, Hawke.” 

His way of saying he’d rather be left alone. Well, tough. 

Hawke inclined his head towards the outside. Best keep this away from prying ears. Varric’s eyebrows furrowed in concern, but he set down his quill. 

They walked in silence until they were a little way outside Skyhold’s gates. There was quite the wind whipping around the walls. It flicked at the trees like a cat’s tail. Storm was coming, no doubt.

Hawke found a sheltered patch behind a rock. Varric put his hands on his hips. “This about Anders?” 

Varric probably thought he had news and that was why Hawke had led him so far away from everyone. “In a sense,” he said. 

Varric raised his eyebrows. 

_ Nothing for it.  _ “I slept with Rylen.”

Varric’s eyes went wide. Then he tossed back his head and laughed. 

Hawke folded his arms. “That wasn’t supposed to be funny.” 

“Sorry. Just, you were so dramatic. I thought this was about something important.”

“It  _ is _ important.”

“Why, is he married?” 

“No!” Hawke cleared his throat. “I mean, not that I know of.” 

Varric patted his arm. “Well then, that’s good. It’s good that you’re finally seeing other people.”

“I’m not  _ seeing _ him. I slept with him, once. I thought you’d understand.”

Varric hitched up his trousers and settled down on one of the rocks. “Then maybe you should spell this out for me.”

Hawke buried his head in his hands. “I’ve been with Anders for seven years, Varric.” 

“So you’re worried you’ve forgotten how courting works?”

“No! That’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried about  _ Anders _ .”

“Hawke, you’ve spent the last seven years being worried about Anders.”

“So, what, I just throw that all away?”

“You’re not the one who threw it away. You know I’ve stayed out of it, I’ve kept my mouth shut. It’s between the two of you. But Hawke, what he did with the chantry, what he did to Kirkwall…”

“I know you’ll never forgive him for that. But he had his reasons." Hawke said through grit teeth. "The Chantry was-"

Varric held up his hands. “I was going to say, it would be one thing if that was the end of it. But experimenting on prisoners, dabbling in blood magic and now... Hawke, you gave him a second chance no one else would have. He’s made his bed now. He’s not your responsibility.”

“I know. But how much is really him? Maybe Justice…”

“Maybe Justice has taken over and what, you’re going to save him from the demon? How, Hawke? By saving a place in your bed for him?”

Hawke rubbed his eyes. The turbulent emotions crashing around within him were threatening to overwhelm him. “When we find out where he is, I can go after him. I can talk sense into him. I can bring him back to himself.”

“Because that worked so well in Kirkwall.”

The words hit Hawke right in the stomach. “That was unnecessary.” 

Varric stood. “Was it, Hawke? Was it really? You are my friend. My best friend. I don’t care what Blondie does to himself anymore. But I do care what happens to you. I’m tired of seeing you like this. The only time you’ve shown a glimmer of your old self in years was when you first got here, when he was locked away with Aveline.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Maybe, but it’s the truth. If you wanted fair, you should have gone to someone else.” Varric folded his arms and jutted out his chin. 

Hawke didn’t say anything and Varric didn’t speak either. The wind roared around them, gathering force. 

Eventually, Varric said, “So, tell me about this Rylen then?”

Even the mention of the name made Hawke’s heart beat faster. “He’s Cullen’s second in command. Apparently Cullen’s been called away and he’s filling in.”

“Yeah, I know who he is. Tattoos, right?” Varric pointed to his chin. “Met him in the Western Approach when I was there with the Inquisitor a few months back. You hit it off?”

“I’d say.” Hawke attempted a smile, even though guilt still twisted in his gut. “We had drinks, drinks became… more. He said he’d be interested in seeing me again.”

“So, what are you waiting for?” Varric grinned. 

Hawke sighed. “You make it sound so simple.”

Varric placed a hand on his arm again and looked up at him, eyes serious. “Hawke, I know this might come as something of a revelation to you, but sometimes things  _ can _ be simple.”   
  


* * *

  
The wind whipped at Celeste’s hair, even stronger than the day before on the battlements. She kept gathering it into a twist at the nape of her neck, but eventually it blew loose. A wise person would go inside, but she folded her arms and stood firm. 

Samson didn’t seem to notice her. His entire attention was focused on Ren. There were fewer other children about - no doubt thanks to the weather - but the ones who were there may as well not have existed. The wind snatched Samson’s words before they reached her, but it was clear he was giving Ren very specific instructions, which the boy was then attempting to follow. Ren was intent, eyebrows drawn close, tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth. The expression was familiar - it was how he’d looked when she’d taught him his first letters.

As much as she enjoyed watching his progress, her attention kept drifting to Samson. He was built like all templars - strong frame fit for heavy armour with defined forearms and a narrow waist. She’d never found the look attractive before, but as he lunged and struck at the dummy, her stomach tightened. It wasn’t just the body. It was the way he kept glancing down at Ren and smiling gently, the way he patiently corrected Ren’s posture even when he got it wrong five or six times. 

In her mind, she kept playing back the events of the previous day. Samson coming closer, smiling, teasing. Her heart pounding, lips tingling.  _ Is he going to kiss me? _ Then the certainty, he was. 

His body pressing hers against the low wall, the plunge to certain death below. No way to escape. Her rapid heartbeat roaring. His face nearer. His touch burning.

 

_ ‘Be a good little mage. Do as I say.’  _

_ Up against the wall in the quiet corridor he patrolled. His body blocking off all escape. His head coming closer. Rough, demanding, unwelcome kisses. No escape.  _

 

She hadn’t been touched since she’d escaped _ him _ , nor had she wanted to be. She’d accepted that the love of her life would be her son. He was what she lived for. He was her purpose. And now Raleigh Samson of all people had disrupted that. For a few dizzying moments in her life, she had thought that maybe, maybe she wanted more. 

Celeste gathered her hair again, twisted it again and tucked it under the collar of her jacket. Now she knew for certain, more was impossible.  _ He’d _ broken her. She’d never be able to be touched without thinking about him. If it was still this bad after a decade, it wasn’t going anywhere. It was a part of her.

She wished Solana was around so she could talk it through with her. 

Across the practice area, Ren spotted her and waved. Samson looked up and followed his gaze. He gave a hesitant smile. 

She lifted the canteen she’d brought. Samson said a few words to Ren and he nodded and ran off in the other direction. And Samson started towards her.

There was no one else around in this weather to witness her making her peace offering. 

“You should be inside, it’s gonna storm,” Samson said as he accepted the canteen. 

She searched for something to say as he sipped the water, eventually settling on, “I have some of that gossip you wanted.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really?” 

Celeste wasn’t usually one for gossip, but it filled the silence. “Word is that Rylen and Hawke spent the night together.” 

Samson chuckled. “And where did you hear that?” 

“In the kitchens, where else? It was all Marsha could talk about.”

Samson took another long drink from the canteen. 

“You know Hawke from Kirkwall, don’t you?” she asked. 

He nodded. “We weren’t exactly friends, but yeah. I helped him out once or twice. He said he’d put in a good word for me with the Templars in return. Don’t know if he ever did. I thought he was with the terrorist?”

“Anders?”

“Yeah. The one who blew up half of Kirkwall.”

She knew that was true. She also knew that the mage rebellion probably wouldn’t have found legs if not for what he’d done. “Anders isn’t so bad.” Did she confess that he’d only come to the Inquisition because she’d begged him to?

Samson’s eyes searched her face. Then, to her surprise, he said, “No, he isn’t.” He passed the canteen back. “I imagine he’ll have some opinions on this development though. Perhaps we should make a run for it before he decides to plant explosives under Cullen’s desk.”

“That’s if he ever finds out.” At Samson’s blank look, she added. “He’s not here. He left a month ago.”

Samson shook his head. “Who else has gone?”

“Well, the Inquisitor.” 

“I knew that one.”

“He’s supposedly in the Frostback Basin but I heard a rumour that no one truly knows where he is.”  It occurred to her that he was probably the last person she should be telling this, but his response was another chuckle. 

Then the dreaded silence. He kept looking at her then looking away. 

“I should probably get inside,” she said eventually. “The, uh, weather.”

“Yeah. I’ll get back to Ren.” 

“Okay.”   

"Thanks for this." He pressed the canteen back into her hand, and the way he looked at her, she wasn't sure if he meant the water or the awkward conversation. 

Even as he walked away, she felt a pull within, something beckoning her to follow him. But she'd felt that same pull on the battlements, unable to focus on anything but the movement of his lips as he spoke. Perhaps in another life she might have been able to trust it. In this one, she turned away and left him to the lesson.   
  


* * *

 

Solana wanted to make camp early and Cullen couldn’t blame her. They’d had quite the eventful day. Plus, neither of them was usually out in the sun this long. Even with the shade of the trees, Solana’s skin was pink and Cullen’s eyelids were heavy. 

They pooled some resources they’d brought from Skyhold and enjoyed a fine dinner of cured meats, dried fruits, nuts and biscuits. Solana was painted in the colours of the sunset as she talked, spinning stories from her days fighting the Blight. 

At first they were enjoyable, her enthusiasm especially. The ridiculous things that Oghren would say, a young blushing Leliana who seemed nothing like the spymaster he knew. But at the centre of every story, was Alistair. Alistair the hero, Alistair the punch line. Alistair who could do no wrong in her eyes. 

“And then Alistair ran forward and-”

“Enough.” 

She stared at him, clearly startled by the interruption at the peak of her story. 

He let the sound of crickets fill the silence while he tried to find some way of explaining that didn’t make him sound like the jealous jilted spouse he was. “Do you have any stories that aren’t about how wonderful Alistair was?”  _ Well, so much for that.  _

Solana wrapped her arms around herself and he could see her withdrawing, disappearing back into her shell, into the woman he’d left at Skyhold with the fixed smile and the sad eyes. And he hated himself for it. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“It’s alright. It’s… I know I will never measure up to what he was in your eyes. I’ve known that from the start of this.” He waved vaguely, encapsulating their relationship. “It's only that I don’t particularly enjoy being reminded of it.” There was no rescuing the evening now. He climbed to his feet. “Good night, Solana. You can come wake me at midnight for my watch.”

“Cullen, wait.” 

He didn’t. He didn’t want to hear obligatory reassurances and he didn’t trust himself not to make things worse.

 

* * *

  
Samson stared down at his hand of cards. It was shit. And Maker if he didn’t have good coin riding on it.

Well, good in context. It was a few copper pieces of the stipend he was getting for helping with the army. Perhaps the equivalent of a drink at the tavern and, since he didn’t dare go into the tavern, it wasn’t even worth that. Still, in the context of the card games he played with his roommates, it was a chunk of change. He wasn’t keen to see it go. Could he bluff his way to victory? 

He opened his mouth to call the bet when a knock sounded at their door. Odd at this hour. 

“I’ll get it.” he said instead, laying his cards face down. Maybe they’d look better after a break. Lightning flashed across the room and the candle in the middle of the small table guttered. 

He pulled the door open to reveal Celeste.  Her hair was damp. She was hugging herself and shivering. “You haven’t seen Ren, have you?” 

He shook his head. “Not since our lesson. Why, is he missing?”

Celeste bit her lip. “No. He’s just late for dinner, that’s all. I’m sure he’s around. I checked the usual places, but I suppose the children will be playing indoors in this.”

“Yeah, there’s lots of interesting nooks and crannies in this old place for a boy to explore.”

“That’s true.” She looked past him to the card game. He was certain his roommates were ogling her. Who wouldn’t, right? Still, he fought the urge to step in front of her and block their view. “I’ll go look. Thank you,” she said.

“No problem.” 

He closed the door as she retreated and settled down with his cards again. He lost that hand - as he’d expected to - and then the next. He couldn’t focus. His thoughts kept going to Ren. 

It was likely he was exploring the depths of Skyhold with those new friends of his. He could imagine them making up all sorts of games involving dares and make believe demons. But the nagging feeling in his gut wouldn’t go away. Ren was a small boy and he was new to the keep. What if he’d gotten lost in one of the dark corridors? What if he’d crawled into some nook and gotten stuck? 

And then a new, even more terrifying thought. Samson had been seen associating with him. What if someone had kidnapped him or hurt him to get at Samson? 

With this thought, he slammed his hand on the table, face up. “I’m out.”

“Already?” the man who had his bed next to Samson’s asked. 

“Yeah. There’s something… I’ve got to… sorry.” He almost tripped over his chair as he made for the door, stopping only to grab his sword and his jacket.   
  


 

The wind howled through the courtyard, battering the stable doors. The rain came down in sheets. Samson found old Dennet securing the last of the horses.

“Haven’t had a storm like this in a while,” he said, without looking up. “I’m afraid we don’t have any horses availa-” He turned and saw who it was he was speaking to. His eyes narrowed. “It’s you.”

“Yeah, it’s me. Listen, I’m looking for a young boy. I think him and his friends play around here. Ren. Short, brown hair.”

“I know the one,” Dennet said.

“Do you know where he is?” 

“No.”

“Do you know where any of the boys are?” 

“Inside, I’d imagine.” Dennet turned back to what he was busy with. Wind whined though the rafters. 

“The kid’s missing. I need to find him. His mum’s worried sick.”

Dennet said nothing. Samson sighed and turned to leave. As he reached the stable door, Dennet called after him. 

“His mum, wouldn’t be a slight blonde thing? Hair done up like...” He indicated braids on the side of his head. 

“Yeah, that’s her.” 

Dennet frowned. “Well, there was a woman little while ago, went tearing out of the front gates like Corypheus himself was chasing her. Matched that description. The guards tried to stop her but-”   


Samson didn’t hear the rest of what Dennet said. His insides had turned to liquid and his feet carried him out into the rain again. 

Anyone with a little sense would have taken the time to gather some sort of supplies, but he had no sense, only fear. Fear pounding in his chest, choking him. The mountain was treacherous at the best of times. In the dark, in the rain…. Maker, no. He couldn’t even complete the thought. 

He dashed out of the gates, but something snagged him. He was jerked around, found himself face-to-face with one of his guardians, the one with the accent who Cullen had yelled at.

“And where do you think you’re going?” The man was drenched, rainwater was pouring from his helmet and he looked completely unimpressed with the current state of affairs.

How he’d found Samson, how he’d caught up with him, were questions for another time. “Celeste,” Samson panted. “She’s out there, and the kid too. I need to go.” 

“You’re not to leave Skyhold, you know that.” 

“Did you hear me, man? They’re out there. Alone. In this!”

“Yeah and that’s what you’d say if you were rendezvousing with some other malcontent too.”  

“Malcon- I don’t have time for this.”

“Now, if you’re really worried about someone we can take the matter to Knight-Captain Rylen and he can decide whether it’s worth sending out a search party.”

Samson shook his head. “There’s no time!”

“Now listen here-”

Samson was done listening. He pulled back his fist and delivered a right hook to the man’s jaw. The man reeled back, stunned. And Samson slipped from his grasp, pounding out of Skyhold’s gates and into the storming dark beyond. 


	18. Knight in red

The night was nothing but smudges of grey between the white of the snow and the dark of the starless sky above. Samson peered through the sleet, holding his hand over his eyes.

“Celeste!”

Already his voice was hoarse. He had no concept of where he was or where he was going. He wanted to run, but every step had to be deliberate, or else he’d risk losing his footing and plummeting down to the valley below.

 _Oh Maker, what if Celeste had already met that fate?_ Dennet had said she’d been running when she’d left.

“Celeste!”

He was so cold his limbs were numb, he could no longer feel the rain on his face. She’d been out longer than him. If she got lost she could die out here, die of the elements.

His feet crunched on the snowy ground - a feeling more than a sound. The wind wailed past his ears. It played tricks with his mind. He imagined this was something like how mages experienced the Fade. A confusing world with no clear up, no clear down, the sensation of being separated from his numbed body. It was only his thrumming pulse that kept him anchored. In the wind’s wailing he thought he heard his name. Samsooon. Samsoon.

“Celeste!”

Samsooon…

His heart seized. Was that the wind or was that her voice? He spun around to face the direction it seemed to be coming from.

“Celeste!”

“Samson?!”

“Celeste!” He trudged towards the sound. “Celeste I’m here. Where are you?”

He couldn’t see anything except the white and the grey and the black. And the white dropped off not far from where he stood.

“Celeste!” he called again. “Celeste, I can’t see you!”

At the edge of his vision, a flash. Magic or distant lightning?

“Celeste? Was that you? Do it again!”

Another flash. He turned towards it.

“Again!”

Another flash, at the centre of his vision, but seemingly coming from the sky itself. His stomach sank. Maybe it was just lightning after all. His mind, playing tricks on him. A lost mageling in the Harrowing chamber.

“Samson?”

No, no that definitely wasn’t the wind. Another flash. It was off the… he started running, to the Void with caution. He slid to a halt right at the very edge of the mountain, a steep drop below.

“Celeste!”

This time he hoped he didn’t hear a response.

“Samson.” Her voice, much closer. “Samson I’m here!”

Another flash of light, from below him, illuminated her. She was sprawled only about two meters down, thank the Maker.

“Are you hurt?” he called.

She held a ball of light in her hand and nodded, hovering it over her leg. It was bent at an unnatural angle.

“Hold on, I’m coming down!”

“No! Ren. You must find him.”

Samson searched for a way to reach her. A _safe_ way to reach her. Wouldn’t do to break his own leg. A little way away there was a more gradual slope to her level. When she saw him approaching, she started shaking her head wildly. “Raleigh please, please you must find Ren.”

He ignored her pleas, his heart pounded so fast and so hard that it was shivering more than beating. The back of his throat tasted bitter with fear. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He shouldered out of his jacket. It was damp through, but warmer than what she wore, which seemed to just be what she usually worked in. Her hair was plastered to her face and she trembled, no doubt with both pain and cold. He wrapped the jacket around her and pulled her close.

“Ren, you have to, you have to find him. Please, Raleigh. Please.”

“I will.” He gathered her into his arms and she screamed when he moved her leg. “Shh…” He held her head to his chest. “Shhh. It’s alright. Everything’s gonna be fine. You’ll see. We just need to get you out of the rain, alright? It’s too cold up here.”

“Ren…”

“Yeah, I know.” He rose and started towards the treacherous slope, moving carefully despite his every desire to hurry.

Celeste was light, but she wriggled in his grasp. “Leave me, leave me. You have to find him.”

“I will! I will find him.” Samson tried to keep her still. “Shhh. I’ll find him, I promise. But unless I get you somewhere warmer, you’re gonna freeze. And how would he like that, hey? His mum frozen? Not at all, I’ll tell you. Not at all. So let me help you first and then I’ll find the boy, alright?”

She buried her head against his neck, but didn’t respond.

It was easier to carry her after that and he managed his way up the slope. Skyhold was directly above them, an imposing sentinel, a black shape against the even blacker sky. But they were around the other side of her now, getting to her gates would take too long.  There had to be some kind of hollow or overhang that he could set Celeste down beneath.

“Can you light the way with your magic?” he asked.

She didn’t speak, but held out her hand and shone light ahead of them. The Maker must have been with them, because he found a cave, dug into the side of the mountain. It was shallow and had he had choices he would have chosen something deeper. It didn’t offer much protection from the cold, but it provided a dry spot out of the wind. He set Celeste down carefully. She was the colour of the snow in the light from her hand. Frightened, in pain. His chest ached to see her like this.

“Now, do you have any idea where I might find Ren?”

Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt. “There was a dare. They told him to get blood lotus during the - during the storm. Maker, Raleigh. If something’s happened to him…”

He squeezed her hand. It was icy. “I’ll find him. But I need you to do something, if you can manage it. We’re gonna need a fire so I can find you again. You think you can do that?”

The wind whipped through the plants and small trees nearby. Her eyes flew to them, then down to her leg, then back to his face. She bit her lip and she nodded.

“If not, I can gather some wood before I-”

“No.” She shook her head. “No, go find Ren. I’ll manage.”

 

***

 

Samson realised after a few minutes that leaving his coat with Celeste was probably not the brightest of his ideas. He was wet and freezing, shivering so hard that he could hardly move forward. And he had to find one very small boy on a very big mountain.

Blood lotus…

He closed his eyes and pictured the herb. It was a reed, wasn’t it? Reeds grew near water. Would Ren know that? It was as good a lead as any. Water… there was a river running through the valley where Skyhold’s army camped. Would Ren go that far on a dare? No, storms were scary. He wouldn’t travel further than he had to. So he’d go to the source. Samson squinted up at Skyhold, trying to orientate himself. Then he trudged onward.

 

***

 

The wind had died down some by the time Samson reached the river. He listened for the rush of water, but what he heard first was barking.

_Andraste’s blighted ashes!_

He propelled himself towards the sound, hardly caring about safety now. His legs wouldn’t move fast enough. The barking was accompanied by the yelping, snarling noise that could only be one thing: wolves.

Ren was the perfect prey. Small, alone. But if they’d caught him already, they’d be silent. Samson unsheathed his sword, thankful he’d thought to grab it as he’d left. Out of the gloom, beyond the sleet, blurs of shadows danced in circles: Growling, woofing, whining.

They seemed almost otherworldly. His feet hit water, the shock of cold made him cry out, but the wolves didn’t pay him any mind. They already had their prey in their sights.

But someone else heard him.

“Hello! Is someone there! Help me! I’m up here!”

He followed the sound, splashed forward as fast as he could. The wolves were circling a tree, and up in the branches was a little grey figure, waving frantically. It jerked backwards as one of the wolves jumped. Smart kid, but the tree wasn’t high enough to truly keep him safe. Another wolf jumped and Ren whacked it on the snout with what looked like a branch.

“Hey!” Samson shouted. “You want dinner? Come get me!”

The wolves ignored him. Another leapt for Ren.

Samson picked up a river rock and lobbed it at the creature. It yelped and spun. Its amber eyes glinted in the weak moonlight as it pulled back its lips, showing its sharp teeth. The other wolves turned too, focusing their attention on Samson. Good.

They started to fan out. No doubt they aimed to surround him. Less good.

The wolf he’d riled before rose on its hind legs. Samson braced his legs and readied his sword. It leaped at him. Its heavy body hit his chest with almost enough force to knock him over. But he’d been ready for it. He sliced up its underbelly. The wolf gnashed its jaws a little too close to Samson’s ear for comfort, but when he pushed its paws from his shoulders, it fell down dead in the snow.

“Anyone else want to try?” he called to the pack.

One of the wolves darted forward, then back again. Another came at him from the side, but as soon as he swung his sword at it, it backed away.

“Off with you!” he shouted, waving the weapon.

The first wolf made another attempt, then thought better of it and retreated to his fellows, ears lying flat. With one final look at Ren, they turned tail and scampered back into the night.

“Ser Samson?” Ren’s small voice asked from the tree above.

“You can come down now, lad.”

Ren swung down from the branch and landed on the ground in a spray of snow. He ran towards Samson, bowling into him at the same speed as the wolf - although he was about half as heavy. He buried his head against Samson’s stomach. The poor lad was shivering and it took Samson a moment to realise he was crying. Samson sank to his knees and wrapped his arms around the boy.

“There there, lad, it’s alright. They’re gone now.”

Ren’s little body shook.

“What are you doing out here anyways?”

Ren mumbled against his shoulder, something about blood lotus.

“Hey now, I can’t hear you like that.”

Ren pulled away slightly. His small worried face stared into Samson’s, illuminated only by the moon. Rain poured down his cheeks, dripped off his hair. It was impossible to tell whether he was still crying. “Mikel said I could join the group if I completed the dare.”

Mikel again. Samson was going to have a word with this Mikel.

“And the dare was to come get blood lotus in the middle of a storm, was it?” His anger was barely contained.

“I’m sorry.” Ren’s lower lip trembled and Samson realised too late that he thought the anger had been directed at him. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t realise how bad it would be. I thought... I thought it would be like the storms back home.”

Back in the city all there was to worry about during a storm was puddles and whether the Chantry roof would get struck.

“You did good with those wolves. Good sense climbing into the tree like that. Now come on, we best be getting back to your mum, wind’s picking up again.”

He wasn’t quite sure how to break it to Ren that his mother had been injured while looking for him. Ren clung to Samson’s arm as they walked back. Eventually he asked. “Aren’t we going to Skyhold?”

“Skyhold entrance is too far in this.” Samson already had to raise his voice over the wind. “Your mum’s just down here, don’t worry.”

“Why’s she out here?”

“Well, she came looking for you, didn’t she?” He scanned the mountainside for light. The rain was picking up again too and... was that more snow?

There, a small orange glow. She’d managed to light a fire.

When they got a bit closer, Samson knelt to bring himself eye level with Ren again. “Before we see your mum, I need to tell you something.”

Ren’s eyes were wide with fear, as if he already sensed what was coming.

“Your mum had a fall earlier. Now, she’s going to be alright. We’re going to help her and when this clears up we’ll take her to a healer, alright? You’re going to need to be a little brave.”

“She fell? Because she came to find me?” His lower lip was trembling again. Poor kid.

Samson wasn’t sure how to comfort him. He patted his shoulder. “It’s going to be fine, Ren. Come on, sooner we get back to her, sooner we can help her.”

 

* * *

 

Celeste scanned the murky darkness beyond the cave. The pain in her leg was almost overwhelming, but the tightness in her chest was worse. Every minute was agony. Samson didn’t have a jacket. What if he froze before he found Ren? What if he found Ren and something awful had already happened to him? What if he never found Ren?

The minutes crawled by. She was starting to think about trying to make for the castle, using one of the branches she’d gathered with her magic as a walking stick. It would be difficult, and it would take ages, but once she was there she could arrange a search party. It was certainly better than doing nothing.

Something moved beyond the cave. She squinted at it. Another tree in the wind?

But she found it again. A shape walking towards her. A single shape.

Samson? Samson returning alone. Her heart clenched painfully and the grief that flooded her was colder than the heart of this storm.

Then another shape, a smaller shape, darted out from behind Samson and came towards her. Came _running_ towards her.

“Ren!”

He flew into her arms, frozen and wet and crying. “Mom, I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry.” He sobbed against her shoulder and then she was crying too but with relief. Her baby, here, alive, safe. She squeezed him to her. “I didn’t know it would be like this, I didn’t know.” He shook with the tears.

“Shh, baby, shh. It’s alright, you’re safe, you’re safe, I’m here.” She stroked his hair as she’d done when he’d been much younger.

Samson entered, dripping and shivering. He took off his shirt and rang it out, sitting in front of the fire. He glanced at her and smiled.

“Thank you,” she mouthed to him.

She’d managed to use the will power spell Solana had taught her for lifting water to lift nearby wood and bring it inside. It had been wet through, so it had taken a couple of fire spells before it had caught. But she’d kept building it, kept adding to it, making it bigger and brighter as a beacon for Samson. Now Samson peeled Ren from her grasp and instructed him to take off his jacket and sit by the fire. He did so reluctantly, eyes scanning her constantly.

 

“I suggest we spend the night here,” Samson said eventually. “It’s only getting worse out there now, and I don’t fancy navigating back to Skyhold with such poor visibility. It’s a wonder none of us fell off the mountain as is. Not for want of trying on your part, that is.”

Celeste managed a weak smile at that.

“So that means we’re going to have to set that leg. Ren, you’re going to help me.”

“Yes ser.”

“You’re going to find me two thick, straight sticks or pieces of bark. They don’t need to be perfect. You’re not going to wander far, alright?”

Ren nodded. He gave a single trepidatious look outside before squaring his shoulders and heading out.

Samson shifted closer to her. He dropped his voice. “How are you doing?”

“I’m well. I’m so very well. You found him. You rescued him.” She was babbling. He simply smiled in response.

He touched her calf, barely brushing the skin. “I’m going to have to remove your boot. It’s going to hurt, I’m afraid.”

She nodded, mentally preparing herself.

“You want something to bite down on? My belt perhaps?”

She glanced outside. She could make out Ren’s shape stooping down to gather wood. “No,” she said. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Samson’s pale skin almost glowed in the firelight, the rough landscape of scars even more visible now than it had been that day in the pantry. He held onto her boot with both hands. “You sure?”

She nodded again. He tugged. The pain was blinding and white hot. She tried to keep silent, but it jerked the sound up from her belly, a scream that brought Ren running.

“Mom! Mom, are you alright?” He dropped the wood haphazardly at the cave entrance and flew to her side.

Perhaps the belt hadn’t been such a bad idea.

“It’s almost off,” Samson said. “Ren, can you bring me those sticks I asked for please?” Ren scrambled away from her, muttering quick apologies.

Celeste squeezed her eyes shut and tried to swallow the fresh agony that shot up her leg. Then it was over, the boot was off and Samson was reaching up under her skirt. Her heart started racing as his warm hands found the top of her stockings, just above the knee. He rolled them down slowly. When she opened her eyes, she found him looking into her face.

He was just helping her. There was nothing inappropriate in what he was doing. Yet at the instant their eyes met, it felt different, it felt intimate. Was it her imagination or did his touch linger?

“Here, Ser Samson.” Ren handed him the sticks and Samson broke her gaze. The strange pleasure was immediately replaced by pain as he pulled the stocking over her lower calf. It was already swollen and bruised. Ren’s hand flew to his mouth.

“It looks worse than it is,” Samson assured him. He selected two of the longer sticks, then his eyes met Celeste’s again. She expected him to offer his belt but he gave her a smile. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to tear your dress for bandages.”

She nodded. To her surprise, he started laughing. He shook his head as he found the seam.

“What’s funny?” Ren wanted to know.

Samson’s eyes rose to meet hers again. There was meaning in the look, but then he glanced at Ren. “Nothing, lad. I’m just relieved you’re both fine is all.”

In a swift motion, he tore her skirt open to the knee. The ripping sound was not a pleasant one and she looked away.

“Ser Samson, may I ask you something?” Ren asked.

“You may.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I take it you don’t mean how do I know how to tear a woman’s dress apart?”

Celeste shot a look at Samson, but Ren seemed to think that was funny.

He giggled. “No, I mean like with the wolves.”

“Wolves?” Celeste tried to sit straighter, even as pain pierced through her at the movement. “What wolves?”

“Easy now.” Samson rested a hand on her knee. “Everything turned out okay, didn’t it? And in answer to your question, Ren, as part of your Templar training you go through basic survival. Wouldn’t do to succumb to the elements while hunting for apostates, would it?”

Celeste wanted to know more about the wolves and it wasn’t lost on her how Samson was avoiding the subject.

“Did you ever hunt apostates, Ser Samson?” Ren’s eyes were wide.

“Only your mum just now.” He grinned. “I was stationed at the Circle right up until I was thrown out.”

“Thrown out?” Ren shifted even closer to Samson.

“Yeah.” He ripped another strip of fabric. “I broke the rules and they asked me to leave.”

“What rules?”

“Ren.” Celeste had heard the story, she’d seen the pain when Samson had spoke of it.

But Samson shook his head. “Naw, it’s alright. I don’t mind telling the boy.” To Ren he said, “The Circle where I worked was very unfair to mages. Eventually they weren’t permitted to talk to their families or friends at all, not even letters. I had a friend, a mage who worked in the smithy and had fixed some things for me as a favour. He asked me to take letters to the girl he loved in the village. I was caught doing so.”

“They threw you out because of passing letters?”

“Yeah, bet you were thinking it was something worse, hey?”

Ren nodded. “I thought it was because of Corypheus.”

Celeste’s insides jerked. She hadn’t found a way to tell Ren about Samson and Corypheus yet, but Samson chuckled. “Naw, wrong way around, kid. I joined Corypheus because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. A bad decision, and one I ain’t proud of.”

Ren didn’t seem surprised. Did that mean they’d discussed it already? She examined Samson’s face as he worked, now comparing the sticks that Ren had brought him. She’d felt so many tangled things for him in the past few months, but never admiration. Ren had been through a terrifying night, filled with horrors she didn’t even know of yet. His mother was injured, he was no doubt scared and cold, but Samson was keeping him calm, keeping him busy and entertaining him.

One look at her son showed her she wasn’t the only one feeling that way about Samson now. Ren’s entire focus was on the man, paying rapt attention to everything he did. And as far as role models went, she found she didn’t mind this one.

Who would have thought?

“Alright, now, this is what you do for broken bones if you can’t get to a healer right away,” Samson told Ren. “It’s called a splint.”

“A splint,” Ren repeated.

“So what we want to do is stop the leg from moving. Moving it might make the injury worse. So you find something like these sticks here and you strap them, like so. And you want to strap the foot too, right? Because the foot moves the leg a bit.”

The wood was rough against her skin, and the pressure against her swollen leg was painful. But Samson was gentle and practiced in his movements. He talked Ren through every step of the process and before long, her leg was completely bound and stretched out in front of the fire.

“Now I’ve got another job for you, Ren. If you’re willing?”

Ren nodded enthusiastically, rising up on his knees.

“Do you know what elfroot looks like?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think you could go out and try find some? Don’t go too far, mind. This isn’t a dare.”

Ren moved towards the cave entrance. 

“Wait!” Celeste reached for him. “No, you don’t have to get elfroot. I’m fine.” The wind was howling again, she could hear the lash of the rain. “Don’t go out there, Ren.”

“I won’t go far, mom.” He gave her a small smile then ducked his head and ran outside.

 

Samson stood and tossed the spare sticks on the fire. They sputtered and popped, filling the cave with fragrant smoke.

“You shouldn’t have made him do that,” Celeste said.

“He wants to help you. He blames himself for what happened. It will make him feel better.” He settled down beside her, at a respectable distance. “It’s been quite the eventful night for the lad.”

“He said something about wolves?”

“Yeah, there were a few wolves.” Samson smiled at her again. She was propped up against the cave wall so even though he was only a head taller than her, he had significant height advantage. “Your son was doing a good job of fighting them off before I arrived. I suppose those lessons are paying off.”

“Don’t make light, Samson.”

“See, I’ve got to make light. There’s no point you worrying about it now, and you have to stay strong for the boy, don’t you? If you must know, he was up a tree. He’s got a good brain, that one. He’s a good boy.”

“If he had a good brain he wouldn’t come out in this on a stupid dare.”

Samson inclined his head. “True, but he’s a city boy. I figure he failed to take into account the mountain, snow and, well, wildlife, that might get in his way. He’ll know better in future.”

Celeste buried her face in her hands and took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to thank you. If you hadn’t been here…”

“Well I was, so none of that. Plus, it’s nice to be the hero for a change. Not a role I’m accustomed to.”

“Is that what you were laughing about earlier?”  She looked up at him, his brow furrowed. Then he seemed to remember.

“No.” He dropped his voice. “I was laughing because, well... It’s best I not say.”

“No, go on. I want to hear it now.”

The corner of his mouth twisted upwards, his gaze lingered on her face. “I was just thinking that wasn’t how I imagined ripping your clothes off.”

Her heart nearly stopped. She stared at him. _Had he really said that?_ He looked away, and she could swear she saw colour rising in his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“So you _have_ imagined ripping my clothes off?” she responded, finding her voice.

He stared resolutely at the fire. “Is this a trick question?”

Heat coursed through her, desire blindsiding her. She wanted to say something, make some move to reassure him. In her mind she pictured rising up and kissing him. Wouldn’t that be just like the stories? A dashing rescue, a kiss in the firelight. But she was paralysed, because she knew it wouldn’t just be a kiss. Kissing lead to _other things_. Other things like his voice had promised when he’d pressed against her up on the battlements.

“Raleigh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t talk nonsense.” He wrapped his arms around his knees. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe you my life.”

He looked at her again, scanning her face. His expression was difficult to read. His eyes were sad. He looked… frightened? “I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost you tonight.” No hint of humour now, his voice raw with meaning.

She swallowed. Not sure what to say.

She was spared finding the words by Ren returning, happily brandishing the elfroot.


	19. The dawn

Dawn crept up over the valley. Samson hadn’t slept. He’d kept watch. He hadn’t minded.

Celeste and Ren were curled up together, the mother holding her son like he was still no more than a babe. The boy, after his traumatic night, welcomed the affection. It gave Samson a lump in his throat to see this little family of two.

And it stirred something in him, some latent desire that had nothing to do with Celeste’s clothes. It filled his chest with an ache that spread down to the palms of his hands.

In the quiet hours while the storm was calming and the light was rising, he dared imagine what it would be like to be a part of that unit. What if he were here not as a concerned friend, but as a father? He remembered the way Ren had run to him, wrapped his arms around his legs. He remembered holding him until he stopped shaking. That had felt right. Guiding the boy, protecting him and now watching over him. And Celeste… caring for her, holding her in his arms as he carried her to this cave, comforting her. He’d desired women before but never, _never_ , had he felt anything like this.

If only she knew his fantasies had very little to do with undressing her. There was a house where he lived with the two of them. Somewhere small, in a village where no one knew who he was. He’d make them breakfast every morning before going off to some boring, ordinary job. Like a woodcutter or a baker. Imagine that, Raleigh Samson, a baker. And in the evenings they’d be waiting for him. Smiling, happy, safe. He wanted it so badly it hurt.

Celeste stirred and he pulled his mind back to reality and crawled over to her. She grimaced in pain. He took her hand and pressed elfroot into it.

“Here you go, give that a chew.”

 

***  
  
“Look!” Ren pointed up the hill. “Do you think they’re looking for us?”

Samson squinted where the boy pointed. Soldiers, not scouts. “Yeah, no doubt.”

They’d left the cave as soon as it was light enough to do so. The storm had blown itself out, leaving a pale lavender sky and slush that smelled like spring. He estimated they were about half way to Skyhold’s main gates now.

He counted five soldiers and, as they drew nearer, he made one of them out to be the man who’d tried to stop him. His whole jaw was now swollen and blue. Oops.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad. Celeste was safe in his arms, her own arms wrapped around his neck and her cheek resting on his chest. She was still a bit out of it thanks to the elfroot, so she didn’t comment.

Ren waved at the men, catching their attention. “We’re here! We’re safe!”

One of them pointed and they started downhill towards them. Ren surprised Samson by gripping his arm, just above the elbow. His wide green eyes looked up at him.

“Do you think I’ll be in trouble?” he whispered.

“Nah, lad. You didn’t break any rules. I think they were just worried about you.”

The soldiers fanned out as they got closer, not unlike the wolves. The man with the swollen jaw was at their centre and as soon as he was near enough he put his hands on his hips and declared, “Raleigh Samson, you’re under arrest.”

“What!” Ren was having none of it.

“Just let me get the girl to safety and then I’ll come with you.”

The man blocked his path. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Samson made to step around him. “Look, I’m sorry about your jaw, alright?”

Two of the other men stood shoulder to shoulder with him, arms folded. The effect was almost comical. The other two came up from behind. “You were not to leave Skyhold,” Ser Bluejaw said. “That was the condition of your so-called freedom, Samson. A condition that you accepted.”

The urge to punch the man again was steadily building, but Samson kept his cool. He wasn’t going to cause a scene with Ren here and Celeste in her vulnerable state.

“I’m not arguing, but I’ve got an injured woman here.” In case he was blind. “Surely you’ll let me take her to the infirmary?”

“I’ll take her,” one of the men behind him said.

“What’s happening?” Ren asked.

Samson wasn’t sure about handing Celeste over to some stranger, but any alternative seemed more likely to cause her pain at this point. Wasn’t like he could start a fight while holding her. So Samson turned and let the soldier get his arms under her.

Celeste chose that minute to come to her senses. She thrashed wildly, slipping from his grip. “Who’s this?! What’s happening?! Raleigh!” She balanced on her good leg between them, leaning against Samson’s chest. He held her upright, worried she might try to put weight on her other foot.

“Easy there. It’s alright, Celeste. I need to go speak to Knight-Captain Rylen. These nice men are going to take you to the infirmary, alright? They’re Cullen’s men. See the uniform? You’re safe.”

Her eyes darted to the assembled men. Over her head, he added to his captors, “You _will_ take me to see Rylen, right? You’re not just gonna throw me back in the dungeon?”

“What if we are?” Bluejaw challenged.

“You can’t!” Ren insisted. “You can’t take him to the dungeon. He rescued me. We’d be dead without him, both of us.”

“Hush, lad,” Samson said softly.

“Rylen will want to know about this,” the man who’d been about to take Celeste said.

“Fine. Rylen then the dungeon. Come along, Samson.”

But Celeste was not easily persuaded. She stared into his face, confused, probably half lost in elfroot dreams.

“It’s going to be fine, love,” he said the word automatically, nothing more than a turn of phrase like he’d heard the old bakerwoman in Kirkwall use. But Celeste’s eyes widened. She took more meaning from the endearment. He could have corrected himself, but didn’t. It wasn’t like it wasn’t true. Besides, she likely wouldn’t even remember this. He gently disengaged her hands from him and was relieved when she let the soldier scoop her up.

The two who’d flanked Bluejaw, stepped forward and took Samson’s arms. He knew it wasn’t because he was at risk of escaping. It was about humiliation, about escorting him in as if they’d caught him and he hadn’t surrendered. He swallowed his pride.

What he hadn’t counted on - and they surely hadn’t either - was young Ren trotting along beside him. Ren didn’t stop from the instant they laid hands on Samson, no matter how much Samson urged him to keep quiet. The result being that he was dragged through the main gates to the chorus of “Samson’s a hero! Leave him be! You can’t lock him up! He saved me!”

Eventually one of the soldiers turned and threatened to take Ren to the dungeon if he didn’t shut up. Ren stood with his arms folded and his chin sticking out and Samson found himself saying, “If you so much as touch a hair on that boy’s head I’ll make you wish you never found us.”

Either his tone really was that intimidating or his name still meant something because the soldier made no further threats. Ren, for his part, followed quietly the rest of the way to Rylen’s office.

Bluejaw rapped on the door and called inside, “We found Samson, Knight-Captain.”

“Come in.”

As they entered, Hawke, who had been leaning against the desk, stood up straight and tucked his hands behind his back like a guilty schoolboy. Celeste’s sources were good it seemed.

The amusement didn’t last long. Samson’s handlers pushed him to his knees before the desk. Rylen strode to stand before him.

“So, I’m to understand you had an agreement with Commander Cullen that you weren’t to leave Skyhold. Is that true?”

Samson bowed his head. He opened his mouth to answer when there was some movement by the door and then Ren was standing in front of him.

“You can’t put Ser Samson in the dungeon. He saved my life! And my mom’s!”

Samson’s stomach jerked. “Ren, be still, will you?”

The boy looked at him and then back at Knight-Captain Rylen.

“You have quite the advocate, Samson,” Hawke chimed in.

Ren’s bow furrowed. “What’s an advocate?” he asked Samson softly.

“It’s someone who defends someone else,” he explained.

Ren jutted his chin out again. “In that case, yes he does. If you’re going to lock someone in the dungeon for what happened last night, it should be me. Not him. I left the keep on a dare. He came to rescue me.”

“We’re not in the habit of throwing children into the dungeon,” Rylen said. He was smiling.

“Ser, if I may.” Bluejaw stepped forward. “Letting Samson out of his cell was a trial to begin with. He may not seem it, but he is a dangerous man.”

“I did not know that!” Rylen’s eyebrows rose and he looked to Hawke. “Did you hear that, Hawke? General Samson is _dangerous_. And here I thought he was a trinket Commander Cullen picked up on his last trip to Orlais.” His eyes narrowed as they came to rest on Bluejaw again. “I’m aware that the Western Approach is considered something of a backwater, but I didn’t manage to miss an entire war. I do know who we’re dealing with.”

Hawke just smirked.

Bluejaw shifted uncomfortably. “Then you see why he needs to be locked up.”

“That’s not what I see. Do you want to hear what I see?” Rylen leaned back against his desk with his arms folded. “Well, I’m going to tell you regardless. I see before me a man on his knees for rescuing a child. Do you know what else I see? I see you. You’re the one who was on duty the night I arrived, aren’t you? The one who was meant to be watching him. You know the night I mean. Was that your plan? Arrive just in time to save his life, but not before he got a little beat up? More like _a lot_ beat up. I’d tread carefully if I were you. You’ve played your hand too early.”

Ren’s mouth hung open as he tried to follow what was happening. Samson had to fight back a smile. He liked this Rylen.

Bluejaw thrust his shoulders back indignantly. “He assaulted me! He punched me!”

Rylen turned away and scribbled something on a page on the desk. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard the expression. It might be more the sort of thing we say in backwaters like the Approach. You never get between a mother varghest and her young.” He pulled out a sheet of parchment and passed it to the man. “Would you be so kind as to take this to Sister Leliana?”

“I…” Bluejaw looked down at the page and up at Rylen again as if wondering whether it was worth telling him he wasn’t a messenger.

Rylen spared him the effort. “It’s regarding your new assignment. I figure it would be best if we asked her to lend one of her people to watching Samson. Let you off the hook as it were.”

Bluejaw blinked and nodded.

“Dismissed,” Rylen added, as if it should have been obvious from context and Bluejaw was a bit slow.

“Yes ser.” He turned and left, dazed as a fresh Templar in a whore house.

“Go on, all of you.” Rylen waved his hands at the men holding Samson as if they were no more than pesky birds. They mumbled their yessers and followed Bluejaw out.

Samson only stood when he heard the door click. “My thanks, Knight-Captain.” Words he’d never thought he’d hear himself say again.

Rylen inclined his head. “Where’s the lass? She come back in one piece?”

“For the most part. She’s in the infirmary.”

Rylen grimaced. “Well, you two best go see to her then.”

“Yes ser, thank you.” Samson placed a hand on Ren’s shoulder and began steering him out of the room.

“One thing, Samson?”

He turned. “Yes, ser?”

“Please don’t punch any more of my men.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hawke chuckled as the door shut behind Samson and the boy. “Papa varghest Samson, never would have guessed it.”

“I imagine he’s as surprised as you are,” Rylen said, moving back behind his desk. Then he offered a smile that sent shivers down Hawke’s spine. “I trust you didn’t come see me at the crack of dawn to discuss Samson?”

Hawke folded his arms. “No, although that was certainly fun to witness.”

Rylen reached onto the top shelf of Cullen’s bookcase and drew down a box. Hawke’s heart gave a little squeeze when he realised what it was. Lyrium.

“Do you mind if I….?” Rylen asked, indicating the box.

Hawke shook his head. Rylen set the box down and opened it.

“Isn’t this a sacred ritual?” Hawke settled in the guest chair, feeling a little voyeuristic.

“Ritual, yes. Sacred... depends who you ask. To me it’s more a daily necessity.”

Even when talking practical matters, Rylen’s voice was beautiful. _Maker, if I’d known how good Starkhaven accents could sound, I might have struck further north than Kirkwall._

He watched Rylen’s practiced movements as he started laying out the apparatus. “Seems complex.”

“It’s not really. Most of this is just about avoiding touching the raw dust. You see, here?” He opened a small container. Blue powder glowed within. “Deadly to touch.”

He sprinkled some out onto a wooden spoon, lying flat on the table, then he cut the powder with a small, curved knife. “Now I have to make sure that it’s fine enough to dissolve properly, else it will burn my throat. I wouldn’t want that.”

He glanced up at Hawke and Hawke almost choked. _Was that just...did he just...?_

But Rylen returned his attention to the lyrium. “So now I have my measured dose.” He picked up a yellow clay contraption and twisted off a nozzle top part. Then, carefully, ever so carefully, he poured in the powder. He squeezed in water too, from a small skin that was part of the set. Then he closed the clay thing, plugged a hole in the nozzle with what Hawke had mistaken for another knife, turned it around and, holding the ‘knife’, he twisted a lever on the top, stirring up the mixture. 

“Firstly, that’s _very_ complex.” Hawke pointed out. “Secondly, you look like an idiot.”

He eyed Rylen’s expression, nervous that perhaps he should have kept quiet.

But Rylen laughed. “We used to call it ‘churning butter’ in the barracks. And that was the more tasteful of the names.”

So much for sacred.

He turned the thing upside down again, removed the plug and held a philter over the nozzle instead. Then, he turned it the right way around and blue liquid lyrium trickled into the glass.

“Pretty, isn’t it?”

Hawke nodded. “Looks more like mage lyrium now. Why don’t they give it to you premixed? Not enough of a ritual?”

“I suspect that has something to do with it. But this also allows us to choose our own strength. The general rule is you go with the very least you need to get through the day. If you’re going into battle, you take a little extra. Go into battle against mages and you take a lot extra. Just, not enough to overdose.”

“And the Chantry wouldn’t want mages to have those options.”

“No, I imagine they wouldn’t.”

They stared the philter again. The lyrium had stopped trickling in.

“Does it disturb you?” Rylen asked. His gaze lifted to meet Hawke’s. “That I’m a Templar?”

“Only if you intend to put me in a Circle.”

Rylen smiled. “I can think of a few positions I’d want to put you in. That’s not one of them.”

Hawke’s stomach flipped. Usually he was good with a quick comeback, but something about Rylen left him speechless, fighting for breath, nevermind smartarse comments.

Rylen held up a finger as if to say _hold that thought_. He detached the yellow device and lifted the philter to his lips. He closed his eyes and he muttered a few words before downing the contents.

He sat with his eyes closed for a moment. When he opened them, they focused on Hawke. “Now that’s out of the way, what _did_ you come here for?”

Hawke drew a deep breath. Once more he questioned what he was getting himself into. He’d felt more confused when he’d left Varric than he’d been before he went to speak to him. He’d spent a restless night tossing, thinking about Rylen, images from their night together playing at the front of his mind.

“That bad, is it?” Rylen asked when he didn’t respond immediately.

“No, not bad. Well, I hope not bad.” Hawke wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He rested them on his hips, then thought better of it and folded them in front of his chest. “I was wondering if we might have drinks tonight.”

“Drinks?” Rylen asked, with eyebrows raised. The way he said the word hinted that he thought it might have been a euphemism.

“On me this time,” Hawke said.

“ _On_ you?”

The glint in Rylen’s eyes said that he was teasing, but even so heat pooled in Hawke’s core. He was so close to saying they could skip the drinks. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I don’t… I don’t really know what this is, what it’s going to be. As you’ve gathered, things are… complicated. But I enjoyed the other night. I enjoyed spending time with you. I haven’t really enjoyed anything in quite a while. And I-”

  
“Hawke, stop.” Rylen held up his palms. “It’s alright, you don’t have to explain. We’ll keep things casual. No strings. And _drinks_ would be nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The workings of the lyrium apparatus are a best guess (with thanks to etaeternum who brainstormed it with me!). I remember someone once joking that lyrium was 'like koolaid'. Since Samson refers to it as dust, but we see people drinking it, that made sense to me. I like the idea that Templars are permitted to mix their own doses. This explains why people smuggle lyrium (e.g. in Kirkwall) even though they're given their allotment, because if they just take extra strength the whole time then they're going to run out before month end and because it's so crazy addictive of course many do. Mages, on the other hand, are given the weakest koolaid you can imagine - you know, when it's so weak it's sour? - and that's what we pick up in the games and why no one worries about mages getting addicted.
> 
> From staring at far too many pictures of Cullen's little lyrium box, the best I can figure is that all of the strange items in it exist to allow him to mix a dose without having to actually touch the powder.
> 
> Of course, this might be like that scene in The Little Mermaid, where Scuttle is trying to explain how one uses a fork!


	20. Fragile

Rain pattered on the roof of Cullen’s tent. He hunched at the entrance, watching the puddles grow. This was not good for travelling. The mud would slow them down significantly.

Solana’s tent was set up beside his. He imagined her curled up on her bed roll, breathing deeply. What would happen if he went to join her? Say he was sorry for the previous night’s behaviour? Would she welcome him? The fear that she would turn from him was enough to halt his fantasy. Instead, he dug through his pack and pulled out a folded leather bundle. With a glance at Solana’s tent, he unwrapped it.

Two vials shone up at him. They weren’t enough.

He’d had to be careful when packing; careful that Rylen didn’t notice what he took, careful that he didn’t take enough that Josephine would detect the loss. He hadn’t imagined it would be much of a problem having a limited supply. He had expected to be able to set the pace and the route of the journey. If it had taken them through cities, he would have been able to barter for more… but it hadn’t.

Of course, when he’d realised he’d be travelling through the forest, he’d cut down on the intake. With the result that he’d ended up with a persistent headache and ill humour. Now his fingers shook as he prepared the morning’s dose.

No, the rain wouldn’t be good at all.

* * *

  
Celeste was in one of the narrow cots along the very edge of the infirmary and she was staring up at the roof when Samson arrived with Ren. Ren sank to his knees beside her and took her hand. “It’s me, mom. Ren. I’m here.”

She blinked slowly and turned her head. She smiled at him, touching his cheek with her other hand. Samson hated seeing her like this, like her mind wasn’t even there. She turned her face back up to the ceiling.

“I was in the Harrowing chamber. Cullen was there.”

Ren looked at Samson.

“Elfroot,” he said quietly. To Celeste he said, “How are you feeling?”

She blinked again. “Strange. I feel like I’m floating. Warm all over.”

He chuckled. “Sounds like fun.”

“Can you feel the sunshine, Raleigh?”

“I do, it’s a beautiful day.” He patted Ren’s back to reassure him. Must be quite disconcerting for him to hear his mother speaking nonsense.

“I wish it could shine like this every day. It’s been so long.” She closed her eyes. He waited for her to say more, but her chest started to rise and fall in a rhythm that indicated she’d fallen asleep.

The surgeon came to speak to them, said that one of the mages had stopped by and done some healing on her leg. A couple more treatments and she’d be good as new. In the meantime, it was best she slept.

The two of them sat together for a time, watching her. Ren held her hand.

“Ser Samson?” he said eventually.

“Yes, lad?”

“I’m hungry.”

Of course he was. The poor boy probably hadn’t eaten since before dinner the previous day. Samson berated himself for not thinking about it sooner. “Well then, let’s see what they’ve got for you in the kitchens. I’m sure they’ll want to hear how your mum’s doing too.”

On his way out, he caught sight of something on the potions tray. A few sprigs of blood lotus, amongst the elfroot and other herbs. He slipped one into his pocket.

 

***

 

Samson left Ren in the kitchen surrounded by fussing women intent upon feeding him his own weight in leftovers while he regaled them with tales of his great adventure.

Samson, on the other hand, had a score to settle.

He’d dealt with bullies before. When he was the scrawny, new, five-year-old Templar recruit, he’d been kicked into shape by the arrogant noble brats. The Chantry had turned a blind eye, so he’d had to fend for himself. When he’d come into his own, he’d made it his business to see that not happen to any of the new kids.

This Mikel would see exactly why half of Thedas had feared Raleigh Samson.

He found the little pack exactly where he expected to, gathered in the shady spot beside the barn. There were five or six kids debating something animatedly. They all turned when he approached.

“I’m looking for Mikel,” he said.

A lanky boy with dusty brown hair and a smattering of freckles stepped forward. A grubby little girl grabbed his arm. Samson recognised her from his lessons with Ren. She looked terrified. The boy looked like he wanted to shit himself.

A small black-haired kid poked his head around them. His large green eyes stared at Samson’s face. “Did you find him? Did you find Ren?”

“Shh, Ant,” the lanky one hissed. He faced Samson. “I am Mikel.”

The boy couldn’t have been older than thirteen, even with his height. He was forcing himself to meet Samson’s gaze, but his muscles were stiff and… he trembled.

Samson had imagined himself grabbing this Mikel by the front of his shirt and shoving him against the wall, saying some threatening things into his face. He had pictured him… bigger.

Instead, he thrust his hand into his pocket and produced the blood lotus.

Mikel’s eyes widened. He swallowed. The little girl’s knuckles went white on his arm.

Samson advanced, holding out the plant. “I believe you requested this.”

Mikel flinched.

“Do you make all your new recruits risk their lives to join your little gang, or was it just this one?”

“We didn’t think he’d actually do it,” one of the other kids said.

“Is Ren okay?” Ant insisted.

Samson kept his focus on the leader. “I’m asking you, Mikel.”

His throat bobbed. “I didn’t mean for him to risk his life, Ser Samson. It was just a bit of fun.”

“Which part was fun, exactly?”

Mikel looked at his feet. “We didn’t want anyone to get hurt, honest. We thought it… well… Ren’s always going on about wanting to be a hero, going on quests and the like.”

“Yeah,” some of the other kids agreed in chorus.

“And he’s been learning the sword and everything. He’s from the city right? Always talking about the city and the things his cousins get up to and, well…”

“And you lot got jealous, is it?” Samson concluded.

Ant pushed his way forward. “Ser Samson, please tell us Ren’s alright? When the storm broke, we went to find his mum. We told her where he was. Did they get to him? Is he okay?”

Samson nodded and swept his hair out of his eyes. This was more complex than he’d thought. “Yeah, he’s fine, kid. Got an adventure all right. I doubt you’ll hear the end of it.”

Ant grinned. Another boy said, “Told you so.”

“What happens to us?” Mikel asked.

“What do you mean what happens to you?” Samson noticed the little girl move even closer to Mikel.

“Don’t hurt us,” she said.

“I’m not going to hurt you! I just…” He scratched at his head. “Look, you…”

They all stared up at him, hanging on his words.

“You kids live on a mountain in the middle of fucking nowhere.” _Shit, probably not the best phrasing._ “I mean the middle of nowhere, right? And the Inquisition is, well, it’s big. And it might not seem like there’s any danger right now, but big military operations like this? There’s always something coming. You’ve got to look out for each other.”

They continued to stare at him. The little girl nudged Mikel. “Ask him,” she whispered.

Mikel glanced down at her. “Not now.”

“I’m all ears,” Samson said.

Mikel fixed his gaze on his feet again. “Me and some of the others were wondering, but we understand if it would be impossible now, you know, considering.”

“Spit it out, kid.”

His gaze flicked up. “Well we were wondering if you might teach us the sword too.”

The little girl nodded enthusiastically. If Ren had trouble holding a sword, he couldn’t imagine how she’d fare.

“Well…” Was it suddenly hot? “You’d need to arrange your own weapons. Blunt ones, preferably. I won’t be responsible for any limbs getting chopped off.”

“Yay!” The little girl jumped up and down.

“Not you, Meg,” one of the other kids said. “You’re a mage, you can’t learn the sword.”

“Can too!”

“No you can’t. You’ve got to learn magic.”

“Why can’t I learn both?”

Why not indeed? Times were certainly changing.

 

* * *

 

The pattering rain became a downpour as Solana trudged after Cullen. It roared through the leaves, pooled in between the tree roots and made the ground slippery.

“There’s a village, not too far from here,” she called to him, trying to catch up to his relentless marching pace. “We should stay the night.”

“How big a village?” he asked. Water was coursing down his face, dripping off his nose.

“Not more than a settlement. They’re farmers mostly. Fruit I think. But I’m certain they have an inn at the very least.”

He shook his head. The movement didn’t so much as shift the hair that was plastered to his skull. “No, we should press forward.”

She closed her eyes and prayed for patience before trotting after him again. “Cullen, we can’t even see the stars in this. And we don't want to get lost in these forests, they’re gigantic.”

“We’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

“Stopping at a village isn’t wasted time! We can gather supplies, ask around for information, dry off. I’m swimming in my boots, Cullen.”

He rounded on her. “Well, if you wanted to be comfortable, maybe you should have stayed at home!”

“What’s _wrong_ with you?”

“Wrong with me? What’s wrong with _you_? This isn’t a pleasure trip, Solana. We have a duty.”

“This isn’t like you.”

“Are you certain?” He continued stalking ahead, forcing her to all but run after him.

“You’re being completely unreasonable. Are you still angry about me telling stories about Alistair? Is that it?”

He brought a hand up to rub at his temples. “Oh by all means, let’s discuss Alistair some more.”

“That is _not_ what I meant.”

Cullen did not respond. If anything, he walked faster. She was struggling to keep up, especially carrying a heavy pack. Twice she almost slipped on the wet ground.

“You know how absurd it is that you’re jealous of Alistair?” she shot at him after a time struggling in silence. She was feeling irritable too now. Not to mention tired, wet and cold. If Cullen wanted to fight, oh she would fight.

“I am not jealous.”

She barked a laugh. “Oh? Oh really? Then please explain what you _are_.”  

“Perhaps I am weary. Perhaps I've finally grown weary of your comparisons-.”

“Comparisons? When have I ever compared you?”

“Always. Do you think me blind? I see the way you look at me out here. Or rather, look _through_ me. You’re thinking of him constantly. You’re so contented out here because it brings back memories of how things were when he-”  
  
“When he was alive?”

Cullen stopped walking. It was so sudden that she almost barreled into him.

“Cullen, you’re being ridiculous. I've never compa-”

“Where’s the river?” he asked.

Solana wiped wet hair out of her face and looked to their right. “Through those trees.”

“I don’t hear it,” Cullen said.

It was true. The rain had calmed, so they should have been able to hear it, especially now it had swelled with fresh water. It should have been roaring louder than ever. Solana veered right, heart starting to pound a little faster. Cullen followed her. She pushed through the trees, expecting to see it in front of her. But there were only more trees.

She spun to face Cullen. “I told you this would happen. We should not have been travelling in the rain.”

“Oh, so this is my fault now?”

“Yes! If we’d headed for the village like I had suggested-”

“We wouldn’t have gotten lost on the way?”

They stared at each other. Cullen was scowling.

“We’re lost because we were moving too fast,” she said. “We need to try to retrace our steps.”

He shook his head. “We’ll never find our way back in this. We need to get to higher ground. Find some kind of landmark.”

“And how do you suggest we find higher ground?”

“I was going to suggest you climb a tree. Or was that a special darkspawn fighting technique?”

“No, it’s a special dry weather I-won’t-fall-to-my-death trick,” she retorted. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you Cullen, but I don’t much like it.”

“Well it’s good we’re not married anymore then,” he responded. Maker, he was finding anything he could to hurt her.

“Oh, did you write to the Chantry to get it annulled?” she responded. She was relatively certain he hadn’t. “Because if you didn’t, I’ve got bad news for you.” She held up her hand. She was still wearing his rings.

Something whistled through the trees and knocked into her shoulder. Then  _f_ __i_ re _. Her nerves screamed. A yelp ripped from her throat as the pain incapacitated her. She was vaguely aware of her knees giving in, of seeing the arrow poking out of her, and of Cullen running forward calling her name. 

 


	21. Grey Warden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to put in a little reminder that Solana never took part in the events of Awakening, she ran into the Frostbacks straight after the events of DAO.

“Solana! Solana look at me! Oh, Maker, Solana.”

Cullen clutched her to his chest. He turned her face towards him. Her eyes were large, frozen in surprise. But she was panting. She was alive.

He knew there was a threat. Someone had shot her. There was an arrow sticking straight out of her shoulder. He should confront them, get answers. But his entire world had narrowed down to just her. Suddenly small, suddenly vulnerable. Her fingers flexed, grabbing for support and finding only his plate armour. 

“Help!” Cullen screamed, there was no sense to it, but the plea ripped from his throat. “Help me please!”

After barely a moment of frantic shouting, something responded. Something came through the trees.

“‘oly Maker.” An Orlesian accent. “Holy Maker, what ‘appened?”

Cullen looked up, finding an elderly gentleman standing on the edge of the clearing. “It’s my wife. My wife. Someone shot her.”

“Surely no-” the Orlesian responded.

The crashing of branches, an agonised cry. “No, no, no! Maker, no.”

A second person, this one sounding more Fereldan, flew to Cullen’s side. He had long, dark hair and hard features, with a small beard below his lower lip.

“Nathaniel!” the Orlesian addressed him. “Tell me you did not do this?”

But Cullen saw the arrows he carried on his back. Yellow and white fletching, like the one sticking out of Solana. The man leaned over her. “I’m so sorry. I thought it was an animal.”

“An _animal_?”

“Her coat.”

Her cloak was brown and fur-lined. Still, it seemed unlikely. They hadn’t exactly been quiet. But what other explanation was there?

“It missed her vitals,” Nathaniel said. “Good. We should get her to help. Julien?”

The Orlesian nodded. “My villa is not far. I will ride ahead and let them know to expect you.”

He stumbled backwards, bowing his head to Cullen before darting into the trees with surprising speed.

“Do you have potions?” Nathaniel asked. “Anything we can use to stabilise her?”

“Yes.” Why hadn't he thought of that? Cullen fumbled with his pack, struggling to get his fingers to obey him.  

When he eventually retrieved the potion, he uncorked it with his teeth and poured the liquid into her gasping mouth. She choked. He was going too fast. He was endangering her. He tried to keep his hand steady as he poured more in, slowly this time, landing on her tongue and not down her throat. She swallowed, closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were brighter and more alert.

“Cullen?”

“I’m here. You’re injured. We’re getting you help.”

“I’ll take her on my horse,” Nathaniel said. “I know the way. It will be fastest.”

“No.” He might have been right, but there was no way in all of Thedas Cullen was going to let go of her, especially not if it meant entrusting her to the very one who shot her. . “I’ll take her.”He clambered to his feet, cradling Solana against his chest. She groaned at the movement

“I doubt the horse could manage all three of us. Let me take her.”

“Then tell me the way.”

Nathaniel looked like he wanted to argue, but something in Cullen’s eyes must have told him that was a bad idea. Instead, he bent to pick up Solana’s pack. “Alright. Come, the horses are tethered this way.”

 

* * *

 

 

Solana was aware only of pain and dull voices and being jostled. Cullen was near. She could smell him, hear the rumble of his voice. She knew she was safe.

She only really started coming back to herself when the first potion kicked in. They were riding, the forest was streaking past. She looked up and saw Cullen’s face, mouth pulled taut, brow furrowed.

“Don’t get lost,” she said.

He glanced down at her and, to her surprise, he smiled. “Shh, rest.”

Her limbs tingled, her head was light. Everything dissolved into grey.

Solana jerked back to consciousness to the sound of many voices. She was being carried through a cool hall, laid down on a long, soft, chaise. Someone placed a pillow beneath her head.

Two Orlesians were speaking. A woman and a man.

“How could this have ‘appened?”

“It was an accident, could have been any one of us.”

“But Nathaniel is so good with the bow.”

“Perhaps he was distracted.”

The woman came around the chaise and knelt before Solana. She was kindly, a little like Wynne, but her hair was perfectly styled and she wore a lace collar that glittered.  “We’ve sent for the healer from the village, dear. It shall not be long.”

“Thank you,” Solana managed.

Her clothes were still heavy and cold. She felt that maybe they should move her from their fine furniture before she got it wet. She tried to sit, but a hand on her chest stopped her. Cullen was behind her. She had to tilt her head all the way back to see him.

“Thank you for your kindness,” Cullen said to the woman. His voice was a welcome counterpoint to the pain coursing through her.  

“My my, not at all. It’s our house guest who’s responsible for this unfortunate turn of events. I can’t imagine why he would make such an error. Perhaps the rain?”

“Perhaps,” Cullen said.

“Oh, but how rude of me.” The woman rose in a rustle of expensive fabric. “I am Marie, and you met my husband, Julien.”

Cullen shifted and Solana imagined he was offering her his hand. “Cullen, and my wife, Solana.”

“It’s seldom we have travellers through the forest.”

“Well, we weren’t meant to be in the forest at all. We were looking for the village but got turned around somehow,” Cullen lied smoothly.

“Would you like something to drink? Tea perhaps?”

“Tea would be welcome, thank you.”

The woman floated away, calling for her servants. Cullen slid round to Solana’s side. His brow was creased. She only realised then that he was applying pressure to her shoulder. The pain had been so blinding that she’d not noticed the additional force against the wound.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, with less strength than she’d intended. He didn’t react. “Extraordinary thing to have happened, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Was he still angry at her? She searched his expression. The familiar lines, even the scar were a comfort despite how they’d started that morning. “I’m sorry.”

His gaze moved from her shoulder to her face. “Whatever for?”

She would have shrugged had it not been for the pain. “This is going to delay us even further.”

His mouth quirked. “I suppose you’re right.” He adjusted how he was sitting, bringing his body closer to hers somehow. The fingers of his free hand brushed against hers lying on her stomach. “Quite inconsiderate of you.” His voice was warm as it washed over her.

“Cullen...” she closed her eyes, tempted to just bathe in this rare closeness. But there were things that had to be said. “About Alistair.””

“Don’t.” His tone was still gentle. “You don’t owe me any explanation. You were right, I was being a jealous fool.”

“No, I… you shouldn’t compare yourself to him. Alistair was not like you.”

“I -”

“No, listen.” She grabbed his hand. “Alistair was a good man, but he was young and lost and naive. There’s a reason I didn’t make him king, Cullen. The choice was mine. I _chose_ Anora. Alistair was many good things, but he could never have accomplished what you have. You need to know that.”

Cullen stared down at her, his expression softer than she’d seen it in months. “Thank you for saying that,” he whispered.

“It’s the truth. I would make you king, Cullen. In a heartbeat. You’d be a good king.”

She could hear the rain, a little way off, splattering against a window or down onto a porch. The sound seemed to fill her head. 

Cullen touched her cheek, bringing her back to herself. He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but Marie arrived with the tea, trailing servants.

 

* * *

  
Nathaniel returned at the same time as the healer and there was a great deal of activity all at once. Cullen backed away, but only just enough to allow the healer to do her work.

He had seen arrow wounds on the battlefield and they weren’t pretty. Solana screamed as they cut into her, and she must have passed out by the time they tugged the arrow free from where it had lodged in her bone. Cullen’s hands hurt from clenching them so tightly, and his jaw ached from grinding his teeth. A wound such as that would take weeks to heal, even with potions and poultices, and it was prone to infection. The healer muttered something.

Blue light danced from her palms.

_A mage! Thank the Maker._

Nathaniel also hovered nearby. Marie had questions for him, of course, and he answered them willingly while keeping his eyes trained on the woman he had very nearly killed.

It became apparent that he and the older gentleman, Julien, had been out hunting for dinner. It was strange weather for it, but then, they were Orlesian. Who was Cullen to judge?

“We were expecting some wild boar, not a handsome young lady.” Julien laughed as he poured himself a stiff drink. He offered one to Cullen too, but he declined, mortified that the man could _laugh_ at such a time.  

The healer was accomplished for someone who lived in a small settlement in a forest. Within the hour, Solana was sitting upright and sipping sweet tea. Her arm was in a sling, but mostly to remind her not to use it while the poultice that had been placed on the wound did its work. Marie ushered the mage off before Cullen had a chance to properly thank her. She seemed a shy woman at any rate, with her head bound in a red scarf and her eyes downcast. He hoped Marie paid her well for her efforts.

Cullen seated himself beside Solana. “How are you feeling?”

“Hmm?” She wasn’t yet herself. “Oh, a little tired. It doesn’t hurt anymore though. We can leave as soon as you’re ready.”  
  
He thought she was joking, but her vacant smile as she stared into her teacup said otherwise. Before he could respond, Marie swept around to Solana’s other side, seemingly out of nowhere. “Oh no, darling. You can not leave today. Not in this weather. Not in your condition. The healer said you need rest.”

“Of course, you must stay,” Julien boomed. “I insist. I’ve already ordered some pheasant for dinner. Not quite as fine as what we might have caught, but our cook can do wonders.”

Solana’s gaze flicked up to Cullen’s. “That’s generous of you, but we must move on.”

Cullen shook his head. “No, absolutely not. You need to rest, Solana. We can head off again tomorrow.”

She raised her eyebrows as if surprised he’d changed his mind from that morning.

“Maker’s breath, I’m not going to make you travel like this.”

“Good,” Marie clapped her hands together. “It’s settled then.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

The dinner table was so laden with food that Solana expected other guests to join them, but it was just the five of them. The man - Julien - made a great show of choosing a wine to pair with the meal. Marie tittered about table settings, and Nathaniel stood watching gloomily from the edge of the room until they were all invited to sit.

And what a room it was. Pale wooden panelling lined the walls, flecked with gold and decorated with intricate ornamental carvings. A chandelier twinkled overhead, bathing the proceedings in a warm light.

Solana didn’t think she had much of an appetite, but the food was exquisite and she found that after days of travelling she was far more hungry than she’d expected. She noticed that Cullen, seated beside her, ate well too, although he kept looking across at Nathaniel.

Eventually, when a natural pause came in conversation, he asked casually, “Forgive me if this should be obvious, but you mentioned earlier that Nathaniel is a guest here? How do you know each other?”

He reached for a bread roll while he spoke, and Solana knew him well enough to recognise that that move was also calculated. He was intently curious about their other guest, and was trying his best to mask the fact.

“Oh, Nathaniel is like a part of the family,” Marie exclaimed, her hand fluttering in front of her chest.

“Nate is good friends with our son, aren’t you?” Julien declared. “You’re practically brothers.”

“Practically.” Nathaniel offered a delayed smile. His eyes swept over Cullen, and Solana had no doubt he had picked up just as much about him as she had. It made her skin crawl. She’d seen that look before, but she couldn’t place where.

“They serve in the Wardens together,” Marie added.

Solana’s stomach leapt, but she was watching Cullen and he made no move to indicate this information affected him. He smeared butter on his roll. “Oh, I didn’t realise you were a Warden. The Wardens I’ve seen always wear that uniform, with the griffons.” Cullen indicated his chest. “Although you do have the dour expression down pat,” he added

Solana clenched her teeth. But the quip landed. Marie giggled and Julien chuckled. In fact, Julien went so far as to nudge Nathaniel. “He’s right, you know. You’re looking at the bird like it personally insulted your ancestors.”

“ _It_ didn’t,” Nathaniel said, his voice like gravel. His  gaze moved to Solana, and she straightened automatically under its intensity. “I must apologise, I feel so contrite at what happened earlier, I find I don’t have little desire to eat.”

Solana nodded, anxious to be out from his attention. “It was an accident, you needn’t concern yourself.” 

“If I may ask,” Cullen continued. “What brings the Wardens out here?”

Solana’s heart started pounding. She didn’t feel equipped for this now. She knew Cullen was doing the right thing, his mind was on the mission, but she felt tired and vulnerable, and incapable of assisting him.

“Warden,” Nathaniel said with a flicker of a smile. “Singular. And what brings you and your lovely wife to these parts?”

He hadn’t answered the question. Solana expected Cullen to press, but he backed down, spearing a potato. “As I told Marie earlier, we weren’t meant to be in the woods at all, we got lost. I’m surprised you didn’t hear us arguing about it.”

“Lost on your way to where?” Nathaniel asked, sidestepping Cullen’s comment about them arguing. He was right, though. How could Nathaniel have shot her, thinking she was an animal, and yet not heard their exchange? Something in the pit of her stomach told her to run. Cullen hadn’t answered. He was no doubt weighing up options. Her pulse raced. Nowhere to run, no way out but through.

“We’re actually looking for a friend of ours,” Solana said. “A man by the name of Anders.”

Cullen paused, fork hovering over his food.

“Anders?” Nathaniel repeated. For an instant, his confident facade faltered. He sounded surprised. His brow furrowed. Then he schooled his expression back into one of neutrality.

“You know him?” she asked, watching his face. “He’s a Grey Warden too.”

Cullen’s hand rested on her knee. A warning.

Nathaniel shook his head. “I can’t say I do. Where did you last see him?”

“Skyhold.”

Cullen squeezed her leg, but she was studying Nathaniel, watching for anything that might indicate he knew something.

“Skyhold?” Julien asked. “That’s the headquarters of the Inquisition. Up in the Frostbacks? Are you part of the Inquisition, then? I heard they allied with the Wardens. Right after our boy first disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” Solana snapped her attention to Julien.

The man nodded, chewing carefully and then swallowing. “Oh yes, we never found out what happened. But he came back to us after. Told us it was all a secret. Nate here won’t talk about it either. All I know is it was something to do with the Inquisition.”

Was it possible he had been one of the Wardens at Adamant? Was that why he looked vaguely familiar? Well, best way to find out…

“Were you there that night?” she asked him.

“What?” Nathaniel seemed genuinely puzzled.

“At Adamant,” she clarified.

He narrowed his eyes. “No.”

“Adamant?” Julien asked.

“It’s a fortress in the Western Approach… well, _was_ a fortress, I should say,” Cullen filled in, easily. “The Wardens and the Inquisition faced an army of demons there during the war against Corypheus. We won too. Your son was lucky to survive.”

“Oh good gracious.” Marie’s hand was at her throat again. “I had no idea. Nate, did you know?”

“I knew,” Nathaniel said. He was positively glaring at Solana now.

“It’s strange,” she said, focusing on her food because she did not trust that she could keep her voice so casual if she met his gaze. “I thought _all_ the Wardens in Southern Orlais were there.”

When she glanced up, he was smirking. “Are you trying to imply I’m not a Warden? I could show you a vial of darkspawn blood if that would suffice as proof?”

“Oh, I don’t think that anyone is implying that, dear,” Marie insisted. She may have said more, but Solana didn’t hear it. _Vial of darkspawn blood_. The Warden’s Oath talisman. That wouldn’t be proof to anyone but another Warden. She didn’t carry the Taint anymore, which meant he couldn’t have identified her by that. And he was regarding her, the corner of his mouth lifted in amusement, as she tried to figure it out. As she tried to work out how he knew who she was.

 

* * *

 

 

Hawke watched the rain battering against the window. Below, people darted in and out of  buildings, shielding their faces with their hands, or holding arms above their heads as if it would offer some measure of protection. They were getting just as wet anyways. The lights from the tavern cast halos in the condensation. It was pretty, cozy. Almost calming.

He wrapped his arms around himself, prickles of gooseflesh were rising on his skin.

“Anders?” Rylen asked, behind him.

Hawke turned. “No, not Anders,” he lied. Rylen was sprawled on his bed, the blanket draped artfully across his middle. He rested his chin his hand. The rain cast strange shadows against his muscled chest. It did not take much effort for Hawke to smile, despite his mood. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Aye, just resting my eyes.” Rylen returned his smile. “Should I go?”

“Bored of me already?” Hawke teased, climbing back into bed.

“Oh no, certainly not.” Rylen scanned the length of him. “I just don’t… well, I don’t want to impose.”

_Impose._ An interesting choice of words. It was like Rylen read his mind. Hawke took a deep breath. The faint sound of crying saved him from explanations. “You hear that? That’s your friend Cullen’s kid.”

“Ah, yes, I heard your young neighbour earlier. Little wonder you spend your days in the tavern.”

Hawke laughed and leaned back against the pillow. “She was born Tranquil.”

“Gossip like that even reaches us out in the Western Approach, believe it or not.”

“Well, what I mean is, it’s not so bad hearing her cry. Babies are meant to cry.”

“Indeed.”

Dreaded silence fell, the awkward silence Hawke had been waiting for. He tried to find something else to say about Alise.

“Hawke?”

“Mmm?”

“We don’t have to talk about the baby. You can tell me what’s on your mind.”

“No, I really can’t.”

Rylen surprised him by reaching out and touching his cheek. They’d been _intimate_ , but this was somehow more intimate than anything they’d done. Rylen seemed to think better of the gesture, bringing his hand back to his own chest. It was the first hint of self-consciousness Hawke had seen from him. “I got a copy of that book.”

“Which book?”

“You know the one.”

Hawke’s heart stuttered. “Tale of the Champion?”

Rylen nodded. “It seems to me that Anders is a decent sort.”

“Don’t.”

Rylen rolled onto his back. “Of course, I’m not very far in. A bit of a slow reader. I haven’t reached the part where he destroys the chantry and scatters Kirkwall with the remains.” He glanced at Hawke, then back at the ceiling. “But then, I saw that part first hand. The remains, I mean.”

“Maybe you _should_ leave,” Hawke said. The words hurt. He didn’t want to be alone and he didn’t want to chase Rylen away, but the very last thing he wanted to do was revisit that night. Again. As if it hadn’t been playing itself over and over in his mind every day for _years._ Rylen was meant to be an _escape_.

“Now now,” Rylen said evenly. “No need for that. We don’t need to talk if you don’t want to.”

“We can talk, just not about _him_.” He sounded petulant, even to his own ears. “Especially not when I’m lying here naked with another man, having just done… that. Here.” It came out in a rush.

Rylen _smiled_. “ _That._ Well, that’s quite the summation. And _here_. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“What do you mean ‘now we’re getting somewhere?’”

“You shared this room with Anders, didn’t you?”

Hawke felt his shoulders tense. “Briefly.”

“And by briefly you mean the time he was with the Inquisition.”

“I was in the Wilds for most of it,” Hawke said tersely.

“And those oils we used…”

“Stop!” _Maker._ Hawke pressed his eyes closed.

“I thought as much. Hawke, here, look at me. Come on.” Rylen’s hands were on him, turning his face. When Hawke resisted, Rylen’s lips touched his. Soft, tender. It was impossible not to respond. Rylen was good at kisses. His fingers traced along Hawke’s jaw, tangling in his beard. He pulled away, but only slightly. “Hawke, it’s all right.”

“What’s all right?”

“It’s all right that you still have feelings for Anders. I understand.”

That surprised him. He opened his eyes, finding Rylen’s also open, filled with warmth. He didn’t know what to say, he couldn’t find the words. “I…” I _don’t know what will happen if he returns_ , he wanted to say. He pulled himself free of Rylen’s grasp, sat up and scrubbed his face. “I stood with him when the entire world wanted him dead.”

Rylen said nothing, but he gazed up at Hawke with evident interest.

“I lived on the run, for four years.”

Rylen waited for him to continue.

Even though he hadn’t intended to, he did. “Then Varric’s letter and suddenly I’m here. I’m surrounded by people and adventure and decent food and lodging that doesn’t leak. And I have a cousin. I _belong_. I’m making a difference again. A _good_ difference. When he showed up at that door,” Hawke pointed at it, “the first thing I felt should have been elation, shouldn’t it? But I was _frightened_.”

“Afraid you’d lose the respect you’d gained here.” Rylen nodded as if that made perfect sense. But Hawke didn’t just mean that. He meant afraid for his friends, his new-found family, his life. He was afraid of Justice.

Hawke hugged himself. “I _knew_ something was up. I knew he had a reason for being here. But he promised me, he swore that he was just here because he missed me. And eventually I believed him. Even when they killed the magister.”

Rylen tilted his head, but didn’t query.

“Things were good. He was never unkind to me. So why didn’t I write to him while I was in the Wilds? Why did I feel like I had nothing to say?”

“Perhaps,” Rylen said quietly. He hesitated, but at Hawke’s look, he continued, “Perhaps you didn’t miss him.”

It seemed so simple, and yet so cruel. “How could I not miss him? We were together for-”

“Seven years.” Rylen’s smile was sad this time.

Hawke looked at his knees. “I suggested he come along to Kinloch Hold when we were trying to find a cure for the baby. He almost died as a result. When he was lying there, bleeding out, I thought I found clarity. I didn’t want him to die. I would have given anything, in that moment, to be able to heal him.”

Rylen touched Hawke’s shoulder. His hands were rough, soldier’s hands and very different from the soft caress of a mage. “Falling out of love with someone doesn’t mean you stop caring about them.”

Falling out of love? “You really do put things plainly.”

“It’s a gift.” 

“You probably think I should have left him in Kirkwall.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Everyone else does. Varric does.”

“Hawke, I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to screw you, that’s a little different.”

Hawke’s traitorous heart fluttered. “And instead you’re listening to me pour my heart out. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Rylen sat up, bringing his face level with Hawke’s. “That was flippant and crass of me. I’m who should be sorry. For the flippant bit anyhow. I _am_ here to screw you. But, what I meant was that you don’t owe me explanations for any of it. Kirkwall or the rest. I knew who you were when you introduced yourself. If any of it troubled me, you wouldn’t have woken up in Cullen’s bed.”

Hawke snickered at that. “You’re a good man, Rylen.” 

“I try.”

“Still, I may have been out of the, uh, _screwing_ game for a while, but even I know it’s impolite to sob about the ex on a date.”

“So he is the ex then?” Rylen asked. He saved Hawke the need to answer by kissing him. When their lips parted, he pressed his forehead against Hawke’s. “I like listening to you, Hawke.”

“You should probably just read the book,” Hawke whispered. “The book’s far more interesting.”

“I disagree.”

Rylen kissed him again and Hawke let himself melt against him. Outside the rain torrented down, but Rylen’s arms were strong and warm and Hawke didn’t want to think anymore.

 


	22. Darkness

The servants came to clear away the main course in a bustle of arms and crisp uniforms. Cullen lost his bread roll in the fuss and it said a lot about his state of mind that he didn’t even seem to notice.

One of the servants was a little slower than the others and Marie snapped at her. Solana had to bite her tongue, because the reason for her distraction was evident. She was obviously pregnant. Her belly was so swollen that she was probably as far as six or seven months along. She kept her head bowed, but she glanced at Nathaniel from under her lashes a few times. He paid her no mind.  _Interesting._

The conversation moved back to safer territory while the desserts were laid out. Julien was impressed with the improvements the Inquisition had made to the roads and the restorations that were being done following the civil war. Marie wanted to discuss the origin of each ingredient in the dessert with Solana. She nodded along and pretended to be interested. This became especially challenging when Nathaniel excused himself from the table. Eventually Solana protested that her shoulder was beginning to hurt again, and she wished to return to their room to retrieve the elfroot potion the healer had left for her.

Cullen gave her a warning look as she slipped away. He clearly knew exactly what she intended.

She went up to the room first, so no one could accuse her of lying. They’d been given a fine guest suite for the night that reminded her of the one she’d had in Halamshiral. The room was on the second floor, at the top of a flight of sweeping stairs, along a plush corridor. It wasn’t all that big but it was tastefully decorated. A four-poster bed took up most of the space, with a large window dominating the outer wall. Their packs were as they had left them at the foot of the bed – good, she didn’t like the idea of servants digging through her things at the best of times. Although her robes from earlier, and her travelling cloak, were draped over a chair, drying beside the fire. Had the servants done that? Or was it Cullen?

Cullen… she eyed the bed. It had been some time since they’d shared a room. Many a night recently she’d woken up craving his warmth, his arms, trying to remember his kisses. He’d been tender earlier, when he’d been worried for her. She twisted the rings on her finger. It would be foolish to read too much into that. Before, he’d acted like he hated her.

A bed was just a bed. A space for sleeping. It wouldn’t change anything.

She pushed the thought from her mind, retrieved the potion from the bedside table, and set off on her real mission: finding Nathaniel. Perhaps if they could talk privately, he’d open up to a fellow Warden.

Maudlin paintings donned the walls. Like Redcliffe Castle. It had been over a decade, but Solana still remembered the chill, the sickness in her gut as she’d ducked from room to room trying to avoid encountering the young Conner, finding walking corpses instead. There was a story she’d read once about a couple who lived in a remote part of Tevinter and used to dine on their dinner guests. This was the kind of house for that.

_I thought it was an animal…_

A shudder ran up her spine.

After discreetly checking into a number of rooms, and down a handful of passages, Solana eventually tracked Nathaniel to a downstairs corridor.

It was his voice she heard first. It was exceedingly low, coming from just around a corner. She pressed her back against the wall.

“I told you, I don’t know,” a woman’s voice insisted in a thick Orlesian accent.

Solana’s curiosity won out and she peeked around the corner. Nathaniel stood with his hands on his hips, glaring down at the pregnant servant, who wrung her hands. Chestnut hair escaped from beneath her lacy cap and she looked up at him pleadingly with large brown eyes.

Nathaniel growled at her. “You carry his child and yet you expect me to believe he gave you no indication of where he was going?”

“Please, I have told you all I know.”

He rested his arm on the wall above her head, leaning in to her. “No, you haven’t.”

“Nathaniel, you’re frightening me.”

“Then  _speak_. Tell me what you know.”

Solana debated keeping quiet. Whatever information the woman gave Nathaniel might help her too. And Cullen would be angry if she got into an altercation…

“Tell. Me. What. You. Know.” Nathaniel had his teeth gritted. He seemed almost more canine than man the way he was bearing down on the girl.

It seemed Solana’s infamous willpower was useless when directed at herself. She stepped into the corridor. “She said she doesn’t know anything.”  

The woman looked more alarmed at her intrusion than she’d seemed when Nathaniel had been threatening her. She went pale and a hand flew to her stomach.

Nathaniel, however, remained calm. He straightened and turned to her. “No need for a hero. Camille and I are good friends.”

_Hero._  Another little hint that he knew her identity. “This didn’t seem like a friendly conversation.”

He advanced towards her. She was very aware that she didn’t have her staff on hand. “You must be lost. Do you need help finding the dining room?”

He was much taller than her. It was difficult not to feel intimidated. “Perhaps you could accompany me.”

“Of course. It’s the least I could do.” He offered her his arm in mock formality.

She accepted it, because to do any less would be akin to admitting her discomfort.

Camille ducked away, into one of the nearby rooms.

Solana was alone with Nathaniel, just like she’d wanted. Yet, as they walked towards the dining room, she found her tongue uncooperative. Hear heart pounded loudly in her ears. “Your friend is missing again?” she managed.

“Seems we both have missing  _friends_.”

The way he said the word 'friend' it sounded like an insult. It made the hair on Solana’s neck prickle. She needed more information, but there wasn’t time. Before she’d managed to get anything else out, they were back in the dining room.

Cullen rose, and it was difficult to tell whether he was being polite or had caught himself in the act of running to her side.

His eyes hardly left her all through the rest of dessert. She was anxious to speak to him too, but she wished he wouldn’t be so obvious. When the last plates were cleared, Solana thought she might finally have that opportunity. And then Julien spoke.

“Cullen, dear man, come through to the smoking room and let us gents continue this discussion. Come along, Nate.”

Cullen’s gaze shot to Solana, pleading mercy. “I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. I don’t smoke.”

“Some fine brandy for you then. Come on, I insist.”

Cullen was herded away with Nathaniel trailing after. Marie appeared at Solana’s elbow. “Come to the drawing room, dear. We can have some tea. I want to hear all about the Inquisition.”

“Uh…” Solana could imagine nothing worse than a few hours’ worth of small talk. “Actually, I’m pretty tired. It’s been a long day. Would you mind if I retired?”

Marie blinked at her. Had she made some dreadful social faux pas? But then Marie chimed, “Oh you poor dear, oh of course. Yes, you should get rest. I’ll have the servants draw a warm bath for you, shall I?”

Now that sounded like a much better way to spend the evening. Perhaps it would even put her mind at ease about Nathaniel.  
  


 ***  
  
Solana tried to count the number of servants this small household had, but couldn’t keep track. A procession of four came in with the tub and then the water. The last of these was the pregnant girl, Camille, whose ears went red when Solana leapt to her feet to take the bucket she was carrying.

“Will you help me with my robes?” Solana asked her quickly.

Camille nodded, keeping her eyes low. “Yes, madame.”

_Well, that was a first._ “I’m not madame, I’m just Solana.” She turned around, and Camille started on the buttons down her spine. Solana cradled her injured arm, making it out to be more of an obstacle than it was. She hissed in imagined pain when she felt Camille moving too fast. As expected, the woman slowed, and the process took long enough that by the time Camille was helping Solana to ease her arm out of its sleeve, the other servants were done drawing the bath.

“Will you require any further assistance, madame?” one of them asked. Solana had her back to her, but she imagined carefully folded hands, a blank expression.

“No, I think Camille will be able to help me. Thank you.”

“Very well.”

She didn’t say anything more until she heard the door click shut. Then she let out a breath.  _Finally._ Now she had the girl alone.

As her arm came free, Solana checked the poultice. The bandage was still firmly in place, it only hurt when she pressed down on it. She’d received far worse injuries during the Blight, although those had been less unexpected. Camille hovered, hands drifting down to her stomach automatically.

“How far along are you?” Solana asked, breaking the silence.

A flicker of a smile crossed Camille’s lips. It was the first sign of happiness Solana had seen from the girl and it was gone just as quickly as it arrived. “Twenty eight weeks.”

“That’s specific.”

The girl blushed again, eyes downcast. Solana dropped her robes and sat on the edge of the bed to remove her undergarments. Now she was the embarrassed one. She wasn’t accustomed to changing in front of people. “I used to count weeks too. So much changes between them.”

“Yes,” Camille agreed softly, still caressing her belly. “You have children?”

“One, a baby girl.” Even the mention of Alise tugged at Solana’s heart so hard she felt she might cry. “I miss her very much.”

“Where is she?” Camille’s eyelashes fluttered as she looked down again. “If it’s not too bold to ask?”

Solana snorted in what must have been the most unladylike manner. “You and I must have very different definitions of bold. I don’t mind you asking. You can ask what you like.” Solana waved at the expensive room. “All of this is quite beyond me. I’d prefer we talk as people.” She crossed her arms to cover her bare chest. “My daughter’s back at Skyhold. I left her with a nurse so I could come find my friend. I fear he might do something he’d regret. I’d like the chance to talk to him first.”

Camille gave a shy smile, but didn’t take up the conversation.

Solana wasn’t sure she’d need help getting into the tub, but thought it was probably safer - for appearances if not anything else - that she accept it. The metal bathtub was draped in soft cloth, the water scented. Solana’s senses sang as she sank into the water. She was tempted to forget everything and just relax.

Camille knelt beside her and started lathering the soap, but Solana touched her hand to stop her. “It’s alright, I’ll wash myself.”

The girl frowned as if this was most perplexing, but nodded and sank back onto her haunches.

“If it’s not too bold of  _me_  to ask, how do you know Nathaniel?”

It was like Solana had poked her in the ribs. She straightened her back, her shoulders tensed.

“He said you were good friends.” Solana scrubbed her arm, hopefully it would make the conversation seem more casual.

“Oh, I… he’s Monsieur d'Arbre’s friend.”

“That would be your…” She didn’t say husband. If she’d married a  _monsieur_ , she wouldn’t still be a servant.

Camille’s face went pink again. With no task to keep them busy, her fingers fidgeted.

“I see,” Solana said. “And Monsieur d'Arbre is the young master of this household?”

Camille swallowed and nodded. She dropped her voice. “Please, do not say anything to the d'Arbres. They have been so kind to me. I have nowhere to go if they…” She bit her tongue, as if even pleading was an imposition. “It is unfortunate that you overheard what Nathaniel said. I do not know how he discovered… perhaps Raoul mentioned me to him.”

“I won’t say anything,” Solana assured her, turning in the tub so she was facing the woman. “And Nathaniel is looking for Raoul? I mean, Monsieur d'Arbre?”

Camille nodded.

“I heard some Wardens disappeared. I’m trying to find them. I think it has something to do with why my friend.”

She watched Camille. She offered nothing. Her fidgeting hands moved down to caress her stomach again. Solana knew pressing her was a bad idea, having seen how she clammed up under Nathaniel’s interrogation. And Nathaniel was someone she knew, not a stranger like Solana. Still… “Camille, I’m worried that the missing Wardens might be in danger.”

Camille’s gaze rose to hers.

“I want to help them. I don’t want anyone to get hurt. If you know anything...”

The girl turned away. “I do not. I am sorry.”

_Alright. We’ll leave that for now._

She changed the topic of conversation. First to babies and pregnancy, then when it made Solana ache for Alise too much, she told Camille of the forest and of their encounter with the darkspawn. Camille was a good audience. She hung on Solana’s every word with wide eyes and mouth slightly agape.

Solana had once been so easily impressed, when Jowan had spun her his secondhand stories of the world beyond the Circle. He’d known no more of the outside than she had, but she’d devoured his tales as if they were truth itself. Jowan… no matter how many years went by, how much she tried not to think of him, he always found his way back to her memory at the most unexpected times.

The room was warm and steamy, and the bath was laced with soothing oils. Solana gave in to her exhaustion. When Camille helped her out of the tub, her eyes were growing heavy.

It was something of a relief that she’d be asleep before Cullen came to bed and wouldn’t have to deal with _that_  fire mine of potential discomfort. The bed was soft, the pillows fluffed, the blanket warm. The rain was still drumming against the window. Solana was asleep before the servants came to take the tub out again.  
  
***  
  
Perhaps it was her memories of his stories, but it was Jowan who was waiting for her in the Fade as she fell to sleep. Jowan, pale as the day she’d betrayed him to the First Enchanter. She was in _that_  cell again, the one in Redcliffe, his words echoing off the walls.

 " _It seems... fitting... that the person putting me to rest should be the person I trusted most.”_ His small smile. She wanted him to hate her, wanted him to fight.

_“Why?”_ she’d asked him. _“Why blood magic?”_

_“It's because of you.”_

They had decided on a quick death. All of them. It was that or leave him to whatever torture Eamon exacted on him as revenge. It was that or leave him to maybe be sent back to the Circle and made Tranquil. It was that or risk another abomination. No. Not after what they’d seen at the tower. Not after what had happened to Cullen. A quick death was merciful.

Jowan had understood. “ _In a moment of weakness I thought blood magic would give me more power, more control. Isn't that stupid?”_

Stupid indeed. But no more stupid than Morrigan’s ritual, which would have saved Alistair. No more stupid than Solana intentionally giving her child to a demon in the hope that it would cure her.

Jowan was on his knees. He stared up at her. So young. So very young.

She wanted to tell him she was sorry. She opened her mouth to say as much. But she found she couldn’t draw air. She tried again. No air. There was no air. The dungeon had emptied of it, it was becoming a black pit and she was falling into it, lungs heaving.

She thrashed, gasping, coming fully awake. She couldn’t breathe. Something over her face. Darkness all around. A weight pressing down on her. Lungs aching, burning. No air. The desperate, instinctual flailing. Something much stronger than her, driving full force into her injured shoulder. An airless scream as pain blossomed. Fire in her mind, across her nerves, sinking backwards into the dark pit, into the Void.

Someone was murdering her.


	23. The past

Solana kicked out and twisted, trying to force the heavy weight off her. Her lungs struggled for air, her mind spiralled into panic. She felt for her magic, her connection to the Fade, but she couldn’t focus, all she could think of was  _ air _ and  _ pain _ . Whoever was trying to suffocate her pressed down on her injured shoulder, sending red and yellow explosions of agony through her. 

She was losing strength, losing her mind. But the pain kept her conscious. She grasped it like a physical thing that could pull her back to herself. _Magic._ _There!_ She tapped it but was unable to call any specific spell to mind. A memory of a small girl in a dark room. Adults fighting above. Frightened. _What if she’s a mage._ Raw power shivering from her. Raw power, explosion, then running feet. All she needed was raw power to draw attention. She struck out with her arm, blindly. She struck out, not at her assailant, but at the room. Once, twice, three times. _Smash._ She hit something big. 

Too late. The world was slipping away. Her limbs were heavy. She was sinking into the bed, through it, into darkness. 

_ Pounding feet. _ “Solana!”  _ Light, bright white and painful. And air! Blessed air. _ She heaved it in, clutched her throat as her lungs spasmed in their eagerness to fill. Two dark figures crashed across the room, locked together. They barreled into the furniture like fighting pups. A flash of silver. The one drew a sword. More feet, shouting. Solana hiccoughed, her eyes moist and blurred with tears. She brushed them away to see Cullen pressing Nathaniel up against the far wall, his sword at the man’s throat. 

Julian and Marie were at the door, demanding answers, talking over each other so Solana could not make out the individual words. 

“He tried to kill her! Again!” Cullen shouted. “If she hadn’t managed to break the window…”

Now Solana saw the glass scattered across the floor. So that’s what she’d managed to hit. 

“Nathaniel, is this true?” Julien demanded.   
  
Nathaniel breathed heavily. He sneered. “They're lying to you.  _ She's _ the murderer.”

“What?” Solana managed. Her heart galloped, she struggled to steady her own breath. Surely they could see that she was the one who’d been attacked?

Nathaniel’s gaze moved to Solana. “You don’t even know who I am, do you?” 

Her mind was sluggish. All she could think of was Jowan. This was certainly not Jowan. 

Nathaniel laughed, a low grating sound. “Tell her who I am, Julien. Tell her my full name. Watch her reaction.” 

Julian looked towards Solana, his brow furrowed. “Now Nathaniel-” 

“That’s right,” Nathaniel cut him off. “Nathaniel Howe.” 

“Howe?” It was all Solana could do to stop herself from laughing. The whiplash of emotions, terror to relief to surprise, demanded physical response. The way he spoke, she’d expected far worse. One of the wolf men. A trader whose caravan she’d failed to save. The family of someone she’d sent to their deaths in Denerim. Howe had never even occurred to her. But now he said it, she could see it. That’s why some of his expressions had been familiar. “You’re Rendon Howe’s son?” 

“I am,” he declared. “And you murdered my father. In his own home. Tell them. Tell your loving husband what you did.”

She blinked at him. “Yes, I killed Arl Howe. It’s well known.” 

“Excuse me?” Julian asked. Marie was staring at the scene in silent horror. 

Solana sat up straighter, squaring her shoulders. “I’ll tell you exactly what happened. He was going to  _ murder  _ Queen Anora. Yes, I broke into his home. Yes, I found him in the dungeons of that home surrounded by bodies and those who he’d been _ torturing _ . Yes, I killed him. He was known as the  _ Butcher of Denerim _ .”

“You’re  _ lying _ ! You’re lying now as you did then, as you did about Anders. You think I don’t know Anders is _ dead _ ?” 

Cullen’s gaze shot to Solana then. “What do you mean, dead?” 

Nathaniel didn’t answer. He addressed Marie this time. “I don’t know what these people want, but I know what they’re capable of and I know they’ve been lying. They didn’t get lost in the forest. They’ve been travelling along the river. And the man they mentioned before, they’ve been dropping that name all over the place, baiting I think. They’re looking for Raoul. You cannot let them go.” 

“All over the place?” Solana was struggling to follow. “What are you talking about?” 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” 

“We’re not baiting anyone! We didn’t even know Raoul existed before this afternoon. We told you the truth. We’re looking for our friend Anders. Maybe you’re thinking of someone else…”

Nathaniel shook his head so violently that Cullen had to move the sword back a bit to stop him from slitting his own throat. “No. Anders isn’t a name. It’s what they called him at the Circle because he wouldn’t  _ tell  _ them his name. Anders isn’t a name so there can’t be two of them. Certainly not in the Grey Wardens.” 

“Perhaps we’re too late,” Cullen suggested softly. “If Anders is truly dead then you are better informed than we.” 

Nathaniel growled, “You said you saw him at Skyhold.” 

“We did,” Solana assured him, and their audience. “We saw him just over a month ago. He saved my life.” 

“That’s impossible. Anders died. Ten years ago. I was there.”

At that, Cullen gave a bark of hollow laughter, drawing every eye in the room. “Would that were true!” 

_ Not exactly helping.  _ Julien and Marie exchanged looks. 

“How can you not have heard what happened in Kirkwall?” Cullen continued. “Have you been down in the Deep Roads for the last seven years?” 

“Love...” Solana cautioned. To Nathaniel she said, “What do you know of the Kirkwall Rebellion of 9:37?” 

He narrowed his eyes at her. 

“Nathaniel,” Marie said softly. “The instigator of the Rebellion was a mage named Anders.”

Where Solana’s words had failed to get through, Marie’s seemed to hit with critical effectiveness. Nathaniel’s eyes went wide. “It can’t be. I… his body. In Vigil's Keep. It was… we held a funeral.” 

Cullen sighed. “He clearly faked his own death in order to escape his Warden duties. A master at escaping, if nothing else. Your friend Anders is alive. At least he was when we last saw him.”

“Vigil’s Keep?” Solana hadn’t meant to ask out loud. Once again, she became the focus of attention.

“Familiar?” Cullen asked. 

“It’s… well, it was my command. Supposed to be, anyway.”  _ Before I ran.  _ “Anora granted me a boon for stopping the Blight. Naive as I was, I asked her to free the Ferelden mages from the Circles. I think the nobles were laughing into their handkerchiefs. But Anora was so poised. She gave me land instead, and she made a speech about welcoming the Wardens back into Ferelden. I didn’t realise that’s where Anders… strange where fate takes us, isn’t it?”

Everyone was still staring at her and she realised too late that most people likely didn’t go around casually talking about boons they’d received from royalty. 

“By the Maker!” Julien’s hand flew to his chest. “You’re  _ her _ ?” 

That’s what had given her away? Not the part about killing Howe? Marie covered her mouth with her hands. Solana didn’t know if she was pleased or mortified. 

“Depends who you mean,” Solana said, awkwardly, struggling to make eye contact. 

“You mean to tell me, I’ve had the Hero of Ferelden staying under my roof and-”

“-oh this is a disaster!” Marie cut him off. “Oh, why didn’t you say anything? We would have - we could have - we only served you two courses! And we were talking about Val Royeaux’s sugar! There was no entertainment! What you must think of us!”

Now Solana remembered exactly why she didn’t like telling people who she was. 

“And you were almost murdered in our very home!” Marie exclaimed. “By the Mak-”

“Ugh!” Cullen was flung forward. In a blur of limbs, Nathaniel darted for the window and dived through. 

Cullen swore. He ran after him but paused at the window frame. They were on the second storey and he was still wearing his armour. He look out at the black, rainy forest beyond and swore again. 

Julien spun and rushed out, calling names that Solana assumed belonged to servants or guards that could mount a pursuit. He almost barrelled into Camille, who hovered just outside the door.

 

* * *

 

 

Celeste jerked awake, finding herself in an unfamiliar room with the words of that song drifting through her head. _ We will cut these knotted ties and some may live and some may die.  _

She blinked, trying to figure out where she was, trying to remember how she got there. The last thing she recalled was falling asleep with Ren in her arms, the taste of elfroot in her throat. And Raleigh watching over her. 

But she wasn’t in a cave now, and her leg no longer hurt. She shifted it experimentally, and it offered no objection. Around her, grey shadows gave the barest of outlines to furniture against the black of night. There were other beds beside her own. The infirmary, then. But where was Ren?

She swung her legs off the bed and made to get up, but dizziness overwhelmed her. The soft bed welcomed her back and she fell into dreams once again. 

Weak sunlight was streaming in through a nearby window when she next awoke. There was activity in the infirmary now. Healers were moving around and people were talking in low voices. One of the voices was familiar, a deep rumble with a thick Ferelden accent. Celeste closed her eyes again and let it wash over her. When had she become so attracted to his voice? There was nothing special about the accent, that was for sure. She’d heard it on every street corner where she’d grown up. His years in Kirkwall hadn’t softened it one bit. 

“And then they left us there, in the middle of the blighted wilderness, in the middle of winter. And we were to survive until they came back for us,” he said. 

Another familiar voice spoke then, a much  _ younger _ voice. “What? Without supplies even?” 

“Of course without supplies. It’s survival training, innit?”

“But you could have died!”

“Look, a Templar who can’t survive his survival training isn’t much use to the Chantry is he? 

“Didn’t they care?” Ren asked. 

“They cared about us being strong enough to hunt rogue mages.” 

Ren fell silent. 

“Now, Raleigh,” Celeste chimed in. “You’re not indoctrinating my son are you?” 

“Mom!” Ren was at once upon her, his arms locked around her neck, the weight of his body over her chest. She struggled into a sitting position, while still holding him to her. 

“Indoctrinating him against the Chantry, maybe,” Samson answered. “That a problem?” 

He was seated on a stool beside her bed, dressed in leathers, with his sword propped up beside him. He smiled and she must have still had elfroot in her system because it felt like she was floating. 

“How’re you doing? How’s the leg?” 

She nodded. “It seems well. Thank you. If you hadn’t found me last night. If you hadn’t…”

He waved off her thanks. “I’m glad you’re awake, didn’t want to go on duty without seeing you.”

She had a vague memory then of Skyhold guards.  _ “Raleigh Samson, you’re under arrest." _

And Samson giving her over to someone else’s care.  _ "It’s going to be fine, love.” _

Surely she had dreamed that part. 

“You aren’t in trouble, for leaving Skyhold?” she asked.

Samson glanced at Ren. “Nah. Everything’s fine.” 

Ren pulled away from her. “They wanted to arrest him and throw him in the dungeon! But I set them straight. Ser Samson’s a hero.” 

“Don’t say that too loudly, lad,” Samson chided, but he was still smiling. He was smiling so broadly he seemed to be glowing. 

“But it’s true,” Ren protested. 

“Why don’t you go wait outside for a bit, hey? I’d like to have a word with your mum before I go report in.” 

Ren looked between them. His eyes narrowed but he nodded and left. 

They weren’t exactly alone. There was an injured soldier in the neighbouring bed, a healer at the other end of the room. Samson’s eyes dropped to his lap. He reached under his brigandine and pulled out a folded wad of parchment. 

“My, uh, penmanship isn’t very good I’m afraid.” He passed it to her. “But there are things that needed to be said, and well, I was up half the night thinking how to say them. Realised I couldn’t to your face.”

Her heart started pounding, her mouth was instantly dry as she accepted the note. “Do they really need to be said?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t as steady as she would have liked. His gaze travelled up to hers. She saw the fear in his look, and then hope. 

She had a good idea what his note might contain, and her chest ached just thinking of it. He’d been the one to insist they stay away from each other. Then, on the battlements… 

He set his jaw, his eyes fixed on a point on her mattress. “You don’t need to respond,” he said, as if he’d heard her thoughts. “But I needed to say it. Wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I hadn’t.” He scratched his brow, drew a breath. “Anyways. I’d best be going, before Rylen regrets letting me off yesterday. I’ll send Ren in again, shall I?”

She nodded mutely. With one more look at the note, then her face, he left the infirmary.  


 

* * *

  
_ Dear Celeste, _

_ You know, in all the years I’ve written letters, I think that’s the first time I’ve meant that? You are dear to me, but then you know that. This is not a love letter. I’m not one for fancy words. If I were to write poetry it would probably be the kind of shite drunk men proclaim in the early hours at the whorehouse. That is to say, it would be laughable and it wouldn’t make much sense. And if senselessness was my aim, well, I woulda spoken to you instead of writing, wouldn’t I? _

_ Thing is, you’ve said where you stand. You’ve made it clear that you can never see me as anything more than a friend. I respect that. I’m not gonna try woo you with love letters and bad poetry. But I wanted to be clear about something.  _

_ If you don’t wish to be with me in a romantic sense because of who I am, then that is fair enough. After all, I am Raleigh Samson, Corypheus’s general. The blood on my hands… it sickens me just to think of it. And if it sickens you too, that I can understand. But then, you’ve always said you could look past that, you know? I can have a second chance to be a good person. That kinda thing. So maybe it’s not that that puts you off. Maybe it’s me. I’m an uncultured git, I know it. I lived on the streets for years, and in the childhood I knew before the Templars, I was a wild little shit, running around the gutters, getting into trouble. Little wonder my folks gave me away, really. And if you cannot see yourself with a man like me, no one would blame you. Least of all me. Honest.  _

_ But see, this thing keeps chasing around my head. You didn’t say you didn’t want me because of any of that. And maybe you were trying to spare my feelings. That would be just like you. But maybe, on the off chance that you were being honest, I needed to say this. _

_ I know little enough about your man, but if he was anything like Ren, he was brave and kind. And if he was anything like most Templars I know, he was duty-bound and honorable.  _

_ I am none of those things.  _

_ Templars are disciplined beyond measure. Me, I tried. I really did. But the rules got to me. They made me itch. I could never stand for the way we treated mages, for one. I know, I know. That’s what you’d expect me to say given that I’m now courting a member of the mage rebellion, but it’s no less true.  _

_ What I’m trying to say is, I’m not an ordinary Templar. You’ll never find me in a chantry on my knees. But I know in some ways I may seem a Templar still. Perhaps the way I carry myself? I can change that, Celeste. I’ll find a way to.  _

_ Or maybe it’s the way I look? I know I’m nothing pretty. But maybe I’m not pretty in a way that calls to mind the man you once loved. That I can change too. Give the word and I’ll go blonde as Cullen. You did it with magic, right? Or I’ll grow a beard or… just tell me what you want me to change and I will see to it. I’m getting a stipend for my Inquisition work. I can put some aside if the magic costs a lot. I don’t mind.  _

_ Maker, I sound desperate. I considered scratching that all out, but that’s the heart of this whole thing. I  _ _ am _ _ desperate. I know you feel something too. I’ve seen it, Celeste. There was a moment last night. I had my hand up your skirt, getting at your stocking. And the way you looked at me. There have been other moments like that. I treasure them like a dragon and her horde. I’ve asked myself so often if I imagined them. Did I, Celeste?  _

_ Because the thing is, and this is why I needed to write this whole long ramble down because the thing is, Celeste. I love you. There. Shaking like a fool. You can probably see from my writing. But there it is. I love you.  _

_ Feels good to get it out. Even if you know it already. Feels right.  _

_ Last night when you and the boy were asleep I realised it well and truly. I realised that pretending that I care for you no more than a friend would is hopeless. Because every time I see you I fall deeper, Celeste. I’m drowning.  _

_ I want to be part of your life. Not just here where our paths happen to cross. Not just now, while you’re young and so very beautiful. Forever.  _

_ And as I said already, I’m not brave. Not brave enough to say this to you when I realised it.  _

_ But I was honest when I said I’d be there for you regardless. You and Ren. Anything you need. And I do not demand your affections in return. That’s not what this is. Not at all.  _

_ If you don’t wish to be with me because of who I am, I accept that.  _

_ But please, don’t let it be because of who he  _ _ was _ _.  _

_ I likely can’t measure up to your Templar, even if I wanted to. Everything else I can change. _

_ I’ve never lost anyone I loved, so I can’t imagine what it is you’re feeling. But perhaps I can help you, as you helped me. Perhaps we can talk about it, perhaps I can help you move on?  _

_ He is dead and I am here.  _

_ Am I a callous bastard for saying that? Is it wrong of me to try to change your mind?  _

_ I almost lost you last night, Celeste. And it made me realise that maybe we don’t have as much time as we imagine. Maybe instead of holding these things to my chest I need to man up and just say them, while I can.  _

_ Couldn’t get quite that far. But here’s my best attempt. I should stop writing before I humiliate myself any further.  _

 

_ Yours, _

_ Raleigh _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in case anyone's confused about what's going on with Nathaniel, in this version of the story Anders wasn't there when Hawke saved Nathaniel during 2. Nathaniel was, in fact, in the deep roads since then doing whatever he and the Wardens were doing and staying out of politics. Solana never took over Vigil's Keep. Instead there was an Orlesian woman who was horrible to him and treated him like a slave, so the anger was left to fester. 
> 
> Much of this (and more) will be explained later as part of the story, but I just wanted to head off any confusion now :)


	24. Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: vague mention of past sexual abuse.

Cullen rubbed his eyes and massaged his temples. He hadn’t slept. How could he? Solana had nearly been murdered while he’d been right downstairs drinking brandy and listening to noble prattle. 

He’d joined the hunt for Nathaniel, but they’d returned before dawn, unsuccessful. Seemed the man was as adept at escaping as his friend Anders. Solana had stayed upstairs, surrounded by servants. They must have dosed her with some sort of sedative, because when he’d finally returned to their room, she’d been asleep in the middle of the bed, breathing deeply, haloed by her bright hair. 

Sleep had held no appeal for him. He’d taken a dose of lyrium to steady his nerves and then he’d sat in a chair at her side the rest of the night. He’d watched her even breath, her parted lips. He’d watched the way her eyelids twitched. He’d counted the new freckles across her nose, courtesy of their travels in the sun. His chest felt hollow. He’d suspected Nathaniel immediately. Why hadn’t he acted sooner? Why had he let him get away?

Solana stirred as the forest came alive with birdsong, and Cullen moved to his pack, before she discovered his vigil and he was forced to explain it. 

 

The d'Arbres made leaving difficult. Not intentionally, of course. But now that they were aware of Solana’s celebrity, they made a great show of insisting she stay so that they could be proper hosts. When Cullen managed to get across the urgency of their mission, they offered bountiful supplies and even a horse to carry them. Solana politely declined both. As it was, they’d stripped their packs down to bare essentials. He didn’t want her to carry anything on her injured shoulder, so she carried one bag now with their supplies and he carried the tents (he’d managed to wrap his lyrium pouch securely in his own tent and if he was careful when they set up camp he was confident she’d be none the wiser). 

He was able to breathe easier once they’d put some distance between themselves and the Orlesians, but Solana dawdled. To his consternation, she removed two of the bread rolls that the d'Arbres had provided from the pack and started shredding them. 

He bit his tongue for as long as he could. After all, she had survived quite the ordeal. When eventually he could keep silent no more and asked her what she thought she was doing, she cited an Orlesian children’s story about people lost in the woods. 

“Maker’s breath,” he muttered. “Very well, it was my fault that we got lost yesterday. It was my fault that you came to harm. Satisfied?”

She stared at him blankly for a whole heartbeat before she started laughing and shook her head. “Pass your sword, will you?” 

“What?” 

She nodded towards his weapon, still smiling. “I’m not leaving a trail for  _ us _ .” 

With a sigh at her cryptic answer, he withdrew his sword and handed it to her. She pulled a lock of hair from the back of her head. It was a deep red, hardly touched by the sun. She sliced through it. 

When she started fastening some of the strands to the branch of a tree, he realised what she must mean to do. “You’re trying to lure Nathaniel?” 

His heart hammered at the very thought of it. As much as he wanted to face the man, he didn’t like the idea of inviting his attention. 

“No, definitely not,” Solana said.  

“Who then?” 

“Someone who I believe has answers. Can you please trust me?”

His annoyance flared. “Should I?”

She groaned, her fists flexed. “So we’re back to this, are we?”

“Back to what precisely?”

She flung her arms out, without turning to look at him. She was still holding his sword and it thwacked into an overhead branch but she paid it no mind. 

“Careful with that!” He rushed forward and wrested it from her grip. 

She glared up into his face. “Oh, do pardon the mage, she wasn’t aware it had sharp edges.”

“I didn’t mean -” He caught himself raising his voice. “You know what, keep it. Bash it about, blunt the edges to your heart’s content. I’m certain we’ll find a smithy to repair it at whatever ruins Anders is holed up in.” He let go, his temper thrumming hot through his veins. 

She pulled away and marched onwards. He followed. It was a little while before she stopped and sliced off another piece of hair. He felt the loss, even though he knew it was silly. A few strands of hair at the back of her head would do nothing to alter her appearance. And what right did he have to dictate how she should present herself? Still, he loved her hair. 

“I’m sorry,” Solana said suddenly. She held out the sword to him. “I know how much you value your possessions. I should not be so careless with them.”

Was that a barb at his particular nature? He examined her features, and found no accusation there. “It’s all right, you keep it. I apologise as well.”

After a few minutes more of walking in silence, the sound of rushing water indicated they were approaching the river once again. Even though they’d been travelling less than an hour, Solana asked if they might stop so she could check her wound.

“I’ll take a look,” he offered. 

Her response was to hand him a water skin and ask that he go and refill it. With the sweetest smile, she suggested he might wash off and cool down at the same time. 

He expelled a breath. “You’re hoping for your rendezvous.”

“Alright, I am. And I think that they might find it less intimidating if you were elsewhere.” She passed him his sword and nodded in the direction of the river.

Cullen shook his head. “And what if I refuse? What if I do not wish to leave you alone?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You were very nearly killed yesterday, Solana, in these very woods.” Did he really have to remind her? “If you think I’m going to leave you here, while the culprit is still at large, then you’re very much mistaken.”

Her eyes met his then and he wasn’t surprised by the look of defiance he found there. 

“Honestly, some days I think you could be on the second floor of a burning tavern and you’d still tell me you were perfectly fine and capable of handling yourself.”

“Well I would be, I can cast ice, remember?” 

He groaned. “Hardly my point.”

She ran her fingers through her hair in obvious frustration. “Watch if you must, but I do think it would be best if you stay out of sight.”

 

* * *

  
  


The training arena was a lot bigger than it had been just yesterday. Samson had had a busy morning. After drills, he’d rounded up the Skyhold brats and put them to work stuffing a few new dummies and fashioning wooden swords out of sticks for those who hadn’t managed to get hold of their own training weapons. 

Long as he was busy, he didn’t think, he didn’t worry about Celeste’s reaction to his letter. Every time he thought about it, his heart started racing. Maker, why had he given it to her? He should have just crumpled it up and thrown it into the fire. 

Every time he caught a flash of blonde hair, he stiffened. He hoped she wouldn’t come see him here, in front of the children. He needed to keep it together. But what if she didn’t come to him at all? If she just started avoiding him, that would be worse. 

_ Stupid idiot. What did you go do that for? Things were good. Now you’ve gone and made them complicated.  _

By noon, he had the kids paired up and practising basic swordplay against each other. The little mageling was small, but she made up for it with ferocity. Mikel, despite what Samson would have expected, was careful with his younger partner, even gentle. 

“Are these our new recruits, then?” 

Samson’s heart jumped into his throat at the approaching voice. Rylen, not Celeste. Not even a woman. What was _ wrong _ with him?

“I hope you don’t mind?” 

“Mind? Why would I mind?” Rylen stood beside Samson, an easy smile on his weathered face.

Wooden swords clashed. Ren was paired with his friend Ant. Facing off against a less-experienced foe, it was easy to see Ren’s improvement. His posture was correct, and he was paying good attention to Ant’s body language. But, being Ren, he didn’t take advantage. In fact, he coached his opponent, repeating instructions that Samson had given him not a week prior. 

“I figure it keeps them out of trouble,” Samson said to Rylen. 

“I agree. Which is why I told the concerned parents who just visited me that they should give you a chance.” 

_ Oh shit. _ He scanned Rylen’s expression. There was no sign of annoyance. His attention was fixed on the training. “I apologise for that. They should have come to me.”

“To be honest, I think many of them are still terrified of you.”

Samson crossed his arms, not sure what to say to that. Perhaps silence was best. He tried to offer all of the children equal instruction, but his eyes kept drifting to Ren. 

“He's a good boy,” Rylen commented, no doubt noticing his attentions. 

“He is,” Samson agreed. 

“Pity about his father.” 

Yeah, he was at that age where a boy needed a man to fashion himself after, someone to guide him and influence him. As much as Samson longed to be that, he knew he wasn’t the best choice. Not by a long shot. “A lad needs a good role model,” he agreed.

To his surprise, Rylen snorted. A glance at him confirmed that he was frowning, shaking his head. “Well, ‘good’ would be stretching it.”  

Samson watched him, trying to determine his meaning. Was he referring to Samson’s suitability? Or to Ren? Well, may as well come out and ask. “What do you mean by ‘stretching it’?” 

“I didn’t mean anything by it. I just, well, you know. It’s just your phrasing.”

“My phrasing?” Samson kept his voice level. Last thing he wanted was to start an argument with the one man standing between him and a lifetime in the dungeons. 

Rylen’s mouth twitched into an almost smile. “Forgive me. The way you said it, it was almost like you were implying his father was a good man. I know you did not mean it that way.”

“You know something about his father?” 

Samson’s question seemed to startle Rylen. The smile disappeared and he stood up a bit straighter. “Only what Cullen told me.” 

Cullen. Of course. They would have served together at Kinloch. Cullen had known the man. Dammit, why did Cullen have to choose now of all times to go adventuring? Maker knew when he’d be back and Samson was desperate to know more. “So what did he say, then?”

Rylen held up his hands defensively. “We weren’t exchanging gossip if that’s what you mean. He only mentioned in passing the trouble that Celeste had.”

“Trouble?”

Rylen’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re uncertain of my meaning, perhap it's something best discussed with her.”

Samson wasn’t so easily dissuaded. “You mean when he died?” 

Rylen shifted uncomfortably, folding his arms in front of his chest. “Just how much do you know of Celeste's past? How she left the Circle?”

So he thought Samson didn’t know about the blood magic.  

“I know she used to be... well, she was one of the ones who rebelled, wasn't she?” He was careful with his words. He wanted to know what happened, but he wasn’t going to be stupid about it. 

“Yes, she was,” Rylen confirmed. 

“And I know that he was a Templar who died when the Circle fell,” Samson prompted. When Rylen didn’t immediately respond, he added, “No doubt she blames herself for that still.” 

“Oh, I'd say,” Rylen said, in that same humorous way he’d made the comment about ‘stretching it’. 

“What's that supposed to mean?” 

Rylen shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I walked right into this one, didn’t I? Is there any chance you will forget this conversation and go about your day?” 

“None.”    
“Look, Samson, I don’t want to overstep. I know you have a friendship with the young lady. Perhaps you need to ask her.” 

The pieces were starting to slot together. He didn’t want to believe them. “You’re saying he wasn’t good? That she was directly responsible for his death?” That couldn’t be true. Ren idolised him. 

Rylen sighed. “Look, this is just what I heard. Cullen wanted to assure me that she was not a threat. As he told it, she didn’t use blood magic for its power, or even to escape the Circle. She used it to escape  _ him _ .”

 

* * *

 

 

Samson found Celeste exactly where he’d expected. She was alone in the dim pantry, packing away supplies.  _ Of course she got right back to work soon as her leg was good enough. _ He hovered by the doorway, fighting against the roiling in his stomach, the ache in his chest, trying to find words. He’d left the children in Rylen’s care, because he had needed to see her, needed to apologise for his desperate pleading, for putting her in such an awful position. Shame like he hadn’t felt since he’d first told her of his work for Corypheus prickled his neck. 

“Do I really remind you of him?” he managed. His voice came out soft, constricted. Had the pantry not been completely silent, he doubted he would have been heard at all.  

She turned, her eyes growing large as they fell on him, larger as they searched his face. “Raleigh…”

“Do I really remind you of the man who tormented you?” This time, his voice was stronger. “Who  _ abused  _ you?” His voice cracked.  

She stared at him for a long moment. “Who told you?” she asked. 

_ No denial. _ “It doesn't matter.” He rubbed his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Why? So you could feel sorry for me?”

He hugged himself. How could he think he reminded her of some dashing hero? Someone she’d  _ loved _ ? He was Raleigh Samson. How could he remind her of anyone but a villain? If only he hadn’t given her the letter, then there could have been some way back from this. 

“I didn’t want you to think any less of me.” Her voice sliced through his self pity. She mimicked his stance, staring down at her feet. 

“Less of you?”

She didn’t answer. He swallowed, finding within him the courage to step further into the room. He closed the door behind him, plunging them into darkness. 

There was silence as he fumbled with the flint to light one of the wall sconces. “Things happened. In Kirkwall. When I was on the streets.” His words were absorbed by the shadows. “It’s not the same. I know it’s not the same. I took coin, for one.” 

It felt like some wild creature was trapped in his chest, fighting to get out. He almost dropped the flint, his hands were shaking so badly. “Point is, I’m not trying to compare battle scars or anything. Just that I… can’t imagine what it must have been like. To live with that, trapped there.”  _ Click. _ A spark, but it didn’t catch. “You… did the right thing, killing the bastard. It’s what I would have done. And no one should make you feel ashamed of that.” He let out a breath, holding the flint in his trembling fist. “And I understand why you don’t want me to touch you.”

“I do.” She was was closer than he’d expected.

The sconce burst to light, illuminating her pale face, as she withdrew her hand from casting the spell. “I do want you to. To touch me.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “But every time you get close it’s like he’s here, in my head. And I’m back there. And I can’t get away.” 

“Because I’m similar to him?” Samson asked, his voice little more than a breath.

“Because you’re a man.” She shook her head. “I can't... when you... he'd press me against the wall like that. He was stronger than me. And he… he was tall. He’d look down at me and whisper… his commands. Hot breath on my face. Calloused hands. Voice like stone. The things he’d say. The things he’d make me do. I'm broken. He broke me.”

“You’re not broken.” 

She opened her eyes, staring straight into his. “Yes I am. I can’t even stand to be touched. How am I supposed to… a romance would be impossible. Don’t you see that?”

“We don’t need to touch.” 

“Raleigh…”

“No, listen. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Celeste. The best person I’ve met. You read my letter, right?” 

It occurred to him she might not have, that he was making a fool of himself again. But she nodded, biting her lower lip.

“So you know how I...I feel. What I have with you now, it’s already better than anything I’ve had before… Void, anything I ever  _ imagined _ before. I am yours. Long as you want me, whatever you want me for. And if I can never touch you, so be it. I don’t need that.”

“Raleigh…” Her voice wavered. Had he upset her further? He searched her face in the glow of the fire. 

She plunged forward. Before he even knew what was happening, she was pressed against his chest, arms wrapped around his torso, head buried against him. 

He stood completely still. He wanted to draw her to him, squeeze her in delight, cover her face with kisses. His racing heart commanded him to. But he dared not move for fear he might ruin everything. When she didn’t immediately pull away, he hovered a hand against her back, fighting his overwhelming desire to hold her. In the end, he settled for breathing her in. Her hair smelled like herbs and baked bread. 

“I don’t want you to change anything,” she said, voice muffled by his shirt. Her shoulders moved on a deep breath. “Besides, you’d look terrible blonde.” 

His nerves fled his body in a rush of laughter. “I could go red? With a big, red bushy beard. How’d that suit you?”

“It would suit me better than it would suit you.” 

He couldn’t argue with that.

 

* * *

 

 

Something moved in the bushes. It was probably Cullen, but Solana reached for her staff just in case. She waited, tensed, holding her breath.

Even though Cullen was out of sight, she’d been able to feel his disapproval growing with every passing minute. She knew he was anxious to make up the time they’d lost. She was too. But the stars would only get them so close and even if they stumbled upon the location where Anders was hiding with the phylacteries, she didn’t want to go in unprepared. If there was even the slightest chance...

The bushes moved again. Power for a barrier tingled in Solana’s palm. If it was Nathaniel…

Then a small, cloaked figure pushed through the leaves. Even before she lowered her hood, Solana let out her breath in relief. A protruding stomach made the figure’s identity obvious. 

“Camille. I was starting to worry you wouldn’t come.” 

The girl’s jaw worked as she looked around the clearing. She unfolded a hand, revealing the crumpled note that Solana had slipped to her that morning. 

_ I can help Raoul. Follow the trail. I’ll wait for you by the river.  _

“I should not have left. If the d'Arbres notice I’m gone…”

Solana approached her slowly. “It’s alright. You’ve done the right thing. What I told you last night is true. The Wardens are in danger. And you know now who I am.” She’d overheard enough of the encounter with Nathaniel. 

“You are the Hero of Ferelden.”

“Exactly. I’m  _ The _ Warden. If you can trust anyone to keep the Wardens safe, it’s me.”

Camille shook her head. “No, you misunderstand. I did not come for the reason you think. I do not know where he is.” 

Solana looked to the trees. Had she led Nathaniel here? 

Camille’s hands rested on her belly. “I came because I wanted - needed - answers. You claim to be The Warden, as you said. But you… you are not…” She closed her eyes as if to gather courage. “You’re not a Warden. You do not feel like a Warden.”

“What do you mean?” 

Without opening her eyes, Camille said, “Since carrying his child I can  _ feel _ it. But not with you.” 

_ All Warden children carry the Taint… _

“You can sense the Taint through the baby?”

Camille didn’t answer. “It means one of two things. One, you are  _ lying _ about who you are and Nathaniel was right.” Her voice trembled. “Or two, you were cured and there really is a cure. There really is hope.” She caressed her stomach. 

_ Hope.  _ Solana remembered that sickening helplessness too well. 

“Does Raoul know about his child?” Solana asked. 

Camille pressed her lips together. 

“I’m not lying about who I am.” She wasn’t sure how to continue. The cure that she’d found wouldn’t be viable for Camille. “I was in your position. I was pregnant, my baby was Tainted. I did something that cured us both but at terrible cost-” 

“So you were cured?” 

“Yes, but-”

“There is a cure?” Camille’s eyes shone.

“It’s not that simple.” 

Camille hugged her belly, ducking her chin and smiling and Solana knew there was no convincing her otherwise. She waited for the inevitable question, debating how she might avoid answering it, conscious that Cullen would likely step in if he thought she was in any way encouraging demon possession. Which she wouldn’t,  _ couldn’t.  _

But Camille said instead, “That’s what Raoul went to find. It was a secret, I was not to tell anyone. No matter who asked. He heard a rumour, through the Wardens. Some were moving north. Some wanted out of the bond. There was a cure, the whispers said. He needed only to follow.”

“He left you to go find a cure?” 

She nodded again. “He left the Wardens too. That’s why Nathaniel wishes to find him. Raoul referred to it… he said, ‘I’m going rogue.’ He made it sound so dashing. Do you truly think he is in danger?”

Solana drew a deep breath, the weight of all the implications resting on her chest, making it difficult to breathe, let alone think. Anders knew how she’d been cured. He’d been there. So, he knew the cure. But why would he lure Grey Wardens to him with the promise of curing them? What loyalty did he have to them? He’d run from them. And what did all this have to do with the phylacteries? Only one way she could imagine.

“I think that the man offering the cure will ask a price,” she said. “I think he’s planning something big and he’s going to convince these Wardens to help him in exchange for this cure. But the cure itself is incredibly dangerous. I can’t imagine Anders doing it. He wouldn’t.”

“But Justice might,” Cullen said. 

Camille squeaked, jerking in fright at his emergence from the trees behind Solana. Solana turned to him, a retort on her tongue. But his expression silenced her. He was looking at the ground, his eyebrows drawn together. She would have expected that squareness to his jaw that came whenever he was determined, like when he had first warned against welcoming Anders into the Inquisition or when he’d argued with her earlier, but this wasn’t that. 

“Anders wouldn’t let him,” Solana said softly, but she wasn’t certain anymore and it carried through in her voice. 

“We’re not dealing with Anders. We’re dealing with Justice. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean?” Solana was aware of Camille standing gaping at her, but she couldn’t move her focus from Cullen. 

“The eluvian. It was the only way to get to you. He warned me.”

“Cullen, speak sense.” 

His eyes snapped up to hers. “I ordered Anders to give full control over to Justice so that we might save you. There was no other way. This is my fault, all of it. That’s why I’m here. That’s why Leliana sent  _ me _ . You thought we might be able to reason with him. I’m telling you, we won’t. He’s gone. I’m sorry.”

He may as well have punched her in the gut. She had to stay strong, seem unaffected, so that Camille would continue to have faith in her. But inside her ice spread out from her middle, cold and painful. Her body felt like that frozen lake near Haven. As she turned her attention back to Camille, it took all of her effort not to crack. Anders was gone and it wasn’t Cullen’s fault, it was hers. They’d come after  _ her _ . And now she might very well have to kill what was left of him. 

“If what Cullen’s saying is true, then Raoul is in even greater danger than I first feared. Please, we need to find him and the other Wardens. ” 

“I don’t know where they are,” Camille insisted. 

“I think Justice is going to use them to attack the Chantry, and then he’s going to give them their reward and it will kill them. If you want to see Raoul again, tell me where he is. We don’t have much time.” 

Camille gasped, taking a step backwards. Her eyes, which had been shining with joy just a few minutes earlier, now glittered with tears. 

“Sorry,” Solana muttered. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”  _ Yes, you did. _

Camille lowered her hands. “I do not know where to find him. But he did want me to send a message, to a place, when the baby was born.” 

“A place?” Cullen asked. 

Camille tensed at his sharp tone. “Yes. A… a shop. Next village over. Gideon’s. That’s all I know.”

“This Gideon must be in contact with him then,” Cullen said, stating the obvious. “Thank you, that’s valuable.” 

“It is,” Solana agreed. 

But Camille stared at the forest floor. “He said that when he returned we could be together, as a family. He wanted to do this for us. Cure himself, cure the baby. If he dies…”

“I won’t let that happen,” Solana assured her. 

“Solana…” Cullen’s expression said everything he didn’t dare say out loud. He thought she was foolish making a promise like that. For all they knew, Raoul was already dead. 

“Maybe when he’s safe…” Camille said wistfully. “Maybe then, you can cure them?”

“Maybe,” Solana said and she hoped that Cullen wouldn’t see fit to correct her. 

He didn’t, but his brow knitted with concern and it stayed that way long after they’d bid farewell to Camille. 


	25. Lost in Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this chapter are based around info revealed in the Bioware short, Paper & Steel (available free on the wiki). If you haven't read it, I've included the basics in a note at the end of the chapter.

_ Pillars of red lyrium rose from the ground, casting vivid shadows against the cold stone floor. This was  his place. Around him, his men worked tirelessly to follow his commands to the best of their abilities. He was proud of them, proud of everything they’d achieved, everything they were willing to do, everything they were willing to sacrifice. But something was wrong. There was a tang in the air. It tasted like fear.  _

_ Samson turned around as the messenger entered - nothing more than a silhouette against the bright square of the entrance to the shrine. He was out of breath, panting.  _

_ “It’s the Inquisition, sir, they’re here.”  _

_ Time sped forward, a skip into the future where he was surrounded by panic, choked in smoke. His men tipped parchments and schematics into bonfires. He knew he’d given the order, even though he couldn’t remember it. His skin burned, his sweat like acid between his flesh and The Armour.  _

_ “Samson,” a cold flat voice said behind him. He turned to find Maddox. “I have performed the calculations. There is no time.” _

_ “It’s alright-” Samson started to reassure him, even though he should have known that Tranquil could not feel fear.   _

_ “ We must stay,” Maddox said. “It is the only way. The decision has been made. We have decided it is best.”  _

_ Best… his echoing voice pulled Samson further into the past, like a fish hook to his gut.  _ “You should leave me. It would be best.” 

_ Curled up beneath the rubble of the broken Circle, leg trapped, bleeding out. The shadows obscured most of Maddox’s face. Samson had gone to the Circle to find him, while the streets of Kirkwall ran with blood and magic. He’d heard the news in Dark Town - that the Templars and the Mages were finally having it out, that the Chantry was gone, that Meredith had called for the Right, and he’d run to the Circle.  _

_ The Tranquil were always the first to die.  _

_ It took near on an hour to dig him out. Samson didn’t have much strength to him. But time jumped forward again, and he was bearing his weight - arm around his shoulder - through the city, down to the docks to hide until it was all over.  _

_ “You should leave me,” Maddox repeated. “It would be best.” _

_ “I’m not gonna leave you.” _

_ “You have no choice.”  _

_ Back in the shrine, the Inquisition closing in. Maddox pale and small.  _

_ “You must leave now, Samson. I will stall them.” _

_ “Stall them? They’ll take you back with them!” _

_ “No. They won’t.” _

_ The meaning of his words had not been clear, but now Samson understood. Maddox had never intended to survive. _

_ Fighting outside.  _

_ “They’re here!”  _

They’re here...

__

Samson shot up in bed, gasping, his heart pounding with remembered fear and guilt so raw he tasted it. It tasted like lyrium. 

He scrubbed his face, finding it soaked. His shirt clung to him. 

_ Maddox… _ the pain in his chest was like a bubble, pushing everything out, even delight that Celeste had accepted his affections. Or perhaps  _ because  _ she had. Because he had been happy. Because she had brought him back to himself. 

Being the villain was armour far greater than any made from red lyrium. He could do anything without remorse if he convinced himself he was beyond caring. But now it was different. Now he _ did  _ care. And she didn’t look at him like a villain, she looked at him like Maddox had before the lyrium brand. Like an ally. Like a treasured friend. Like…

Samson felt for the candle on his bedside table. Light. He needed light! Light to chase away the ghosts of things he’d buried so long ago. 

His fingers brushed against paper. _ What? _ He grasped for the unfamiliar shape. It crinkled as his hand closed around it. He had a horrible sinking feeling he knew what it was, even as he hoped he was mistaken and that it was, perhaps, a letter from Celeste or a note belonging to one of his roommates. But no, as he drew it into a beam of moonlight his stomach clenched with cold dread. A paper bird. 

With shaking fingers, he unfolded it. 

 

***

 

The light of morning hadn’t reached the battlements yet. The sconces still burned on the walls. Rylen was already at his desk. He was pouring over a report, but he looked up when Samson entered.

“Samson? What can I do for you? I wasn’t expecting you for a few hours yet.”

Samson’s mouth was dry and his eyeballs ached as if he had been crying - which he _ hadn’t  _ been. “I wish to leave Skyhold.”

Rylen straightened. “Beg your pardon?” 

Samson scratched his scalp, not sure how best to approach this. “It’s a personal matter. I won’t be gone long. I will come back. You can send whoever you like with me.”

Rylen’s squinted at him. “Is this to do with your young lady?”

“No. Nothing to do with Celeste. And you shouldn’t say that she’s mine. It’s dangerous.“

“Dangerous?” Rylen came around the desk. 

“Yeah. Don’t want her associated with me. Look, I’ll only be gone a week. I need to - there’s something I need to see for myself.” 

“I’m sorry Samson, but Commander Cullen was very clear-”

“You’re his replacement though, yeah?” Didn’t that mean he had the same authority? 

Rylen nodded. “But Cullen was explicit in his wishes. You’ve already left once and I chose to overlook that because you had sufficient cause, but I’m afraid I can’t permit you to go dashing off on a personal errand. There’s enough up in the air at the mo-”

“And you don’t trust me.”

“My feelings on the matter are entirely irrelevant. If word got out-”

“Yeah, I get it. It’s bad enough that the Inquisition hasn’t killed me, they can’t very well let me go wander about.”

“Perhaps when Cullen returns you can broach the subject with him.”

“Yeah. Perhaps.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Well, that’s the village,” Solana said, stating what was obvious through the trees. They could already see flashes of cobbled streets and roof tiles. 

The sight invigorated her. After two days of camping, the forest was starting to lose its appeal. The supplies that the d'Arbres had sent were either stale or soggy, her boots were nearly worn through and she was longing to see people - anyone - outside of her dour husband. They’d hardly spoken the past two days, although he’d been polite enough. They’d slept in shifts and travelled without talking unless necessary. Perhaps he’d been preoccupied with worrying about Justice, as she had. Or perhaps he had been nervous of talking lest he start another argument. 

As they grew nearer to the village, he surprised her by taking her arm and pulling her gently around to face him. “You go ahead. I… I’m going to see about getting us a room for the night.” 

It was unlike him to suggest a layover, or th,at she go anywhere alone. Now she was looking at him, she saw he was flushed with a sheen of sweat over his face. 

“Cullen, are you well?”

“Quite well.” His gaze travelled past hers, to the village. 

“You don’t seem well.” She reached to touch his forehead, but he jerked away. Had he eaten something strange? “Perhaps you should go see a healer.” 

“No, I don’t need a healer. It’s the heat. Humidity. I’ll be fine when I find an inn. A room. Somewhere cool.” 

It  _ was _ humid - she was carrying her cloak over her arm - but it didn’t seem to be  _ that _ humid. Still, she supposed she wasn’t wearing layers of armour. “That Fereldan blood of yours?” She offered him a smile. 

“Probably. I… would you mind if I take the purse? We can meet at the inn after you’ve found this store and see about supplies.”

“Yes, fine.” She lowered the pack and rifled through the pockets, withdrawing the pouch that held the sum of their coin. 

She counted out a few pieces for supplies, then handed the rest to him. He accepted it with a grateful smile. “I’ll try not to spend all of it.” 

The words were lighthearted, but he grimaced as he said them. When he walked away, he moved stiffly, as if he’d been riding all day instead of walking. 

_ I hope he’s right about it just being the heat.  _

This mission would be difficult enough as it was if they truly were dealing with Justice. They didn’t need Cullen coming down with dysentery or something awful like that. A part of her wanted to follow him to the inn, make sure he arrived there safely. But doing so would only annoy him if it was truly just the heat. Talking to this Gideon shouldn’t take long. She could check on him after. 

The town was not big by Orlesian standards, but it was the largest town they’d seen so far. It was built in a cross shape, with two cobbled roads meeting in a square lined with shops and hawkers selling fruit from the surrounding farms. There were a few houses pressed between businesses with straw roofs that were in obvious need of care. Grass pushed up through the stonework and vines and nettles tried to climb the buildings. It was like many quaint little Orlesian towns that were slowly losing the battle against the allure of city life. In a few generations, this place would likely be buried. 

A group of children ran past Solana, playing some game of catch. Her heart clenched with longing. Alise had never felt further away.

 

***  
  


Gideon’s was not difficult to find. It was right there on the square, a small general store with a tinkling bell over the door. Gideon himself was a middle-aged, red-faced fellow who greeted her warmly as she entered. She spent a few moments browsing before approaching his counter with what she intended to purchase.

“You’re not from around here, are ya?” he asked in a clear Kirkwall accent as she placed her coin on the counter.

She smiled, taking the opportunity to lower her pack. Her uninjured shoulder was rubbed raw where she’d been carrying it. “I wasn’t expecting to find a fellow Marcher out here.” 

Gideon guffawed. “What brings a pretty young thing like you into my store?” 

It had been a good few years since Solana had been called either pretty or young and she was certain she was nothing of the sort after two days of solid travel. “I’m looking for a friend.” 

“Well, I’m a little old for you but I’m sure we could find you one in the tavern,” the man teased with an exaggerated wink. 

Solana’s stomach was in knots but she smiled, grateful for his good humour and hoping it held. “A specific friend. A… Grey Warden.”

Gideon’s expression sobered. “Oh, I haven’t seen one of those since the Blight.” 

She was opening her mouth to respond when the bell above the door tinkled. 

“Well, now you have.” 

Solana recognised the voice instantly. She was already reaching for her staff as she spun. Nathaniel leaned against the wall next to the door. His hair hung lank around his face and he hadn’t shaved in a few days. 

“What are you doing here?” Solana demanded. 

The other customers - a blonde woman and an old man - looked up from their shopping to stare at her, the venom in her voice clearly apparent. 

Nathaniel sauntered forward. “Same thing as you. Looking for my  _ friend _ .”

“How did you find us? Did you follow us? What did you do to Camille?” 

He held up his hands. “I did nothing to Camille. _ You _ convinced her to talk. Effective tactic. I must admit I’m impressed, playing sickly to secure time with her, then ever so subtly revealing you’re the Hero of Ferelden so she’d trust you.” 

Solana gritted her teeth. Gideon and his two customers were now staring at her. “I didn’t reveal that. You did. Right after you tried to kill me. Get out, Nathaniel.”

“And what if I do? What then, Hero? You know I’ll keep following you. I want to find those Wardens just as badly as you do.” He came closer as he spoke, menacing in his movement and in the way he was looking at her. 

“Why?”

“Why do I want to find the Wardens? I should be asking you that. I am the one who is a Warden, after all. I have a vested interest in discovering what’s going on here. Why are you here, Hero?” 

“I told you.”

“You told me you’re looking for a dead man.”

“That’s right. I’m looking to protect people from him. But since you don’t believe he’s alive, I  don’t expect to convince you of that.” 

“Protect people?” He chuckled darkly. “And he’s what? A blood mage now?”

She was losing her patience. “Depends, what do you call an abomination using blood magic?” 

That seemed to hit home. Nathaniel blinked. “An abomination?” 

“I suppose that’s as good a name as any,” she said sarcastically. 

“Anders is an abomination?” Nathaniel asked, his sinister facade falling away. 

So he hadn’t been listening in on their conversation with Camille as he wanted her to believe. Solana was aware of their audience, not even trying to hide that they were hanging on every word of this conversation. “Anders is possessed by a spirit of Justice. Only, he likes to take little trips into Vengeance when he gets upset.”

“Justice?” Nathaniel asked in that same tone, as if she’d just informed him of the Divine’s death. 

“That’s what I said. Maker, you really were living under a rock this past decade weren’t you?” 

“Several tons of it, actually. Warden. Deep Roads. You know how it is. Wait, no you don’t, because you were never a real Warden.” The snark was back. 

“So what do you suggest then, Howe? Because I’m not going to let you follow me, that is for certain.” 

He smirked. “You say that as if you have a choice.” He unslung his bow from his back. “But I have a different proposal. A duel. You’re the mighty Hero of Ferelden so that shouldn’t frighten you. If you win, I’ll leave you alone. If I win, I get to kill you.” 

“You’re insane.”

“Perhaps.”

His gaze cut to Gideon and then he advanced towards Solana again. “Look at it this way, Hero. I am giving you an opportunity to defend yourself. I could have just waited until you were out on the road, until you had the information I needed. I could have slit your throat in your sleep.”

“So why didn’t you?” 

“Because then I wouldn’t have the chance to show these nice people what I’m capable of. I am certain that if I bring them the head of the Hero of Ferelden they’ll be more inclined to tell me where the Wardens are. Don’t you think?”  

Solana felt the blood drain from her face. 

“Oh, you like the sound of that, don’t you?” He stared down at her. “An opportunity to rescue the innocents? Isn’t that what you came out here for? Now, give me my duel.”

She cast a stonefist at his chest.

He flew backwards, through the door and out into the street. She followed him, throwing up a barrier as she stalked towards him. He was on his backside, scrabbling backwards. She heard Gideon calling out to the startled square that she was the Hero of Ferelden and Nathaniel was a Warden gone mad, but she didn’t move her eyes from Howe. 

“You’re just like your father,” she growled. 

He was gasping for air. “Are you going to murder me now, or will you allow me to set terms?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paper & Steel: In this Bioware short, Samson is camped with the Red Templars and Maddox helps him fix a sword. It's revealed that while at the Circle, Maddox once fixed something for Samson as a favour and Samson offered a favour in return. Maddox came to Samson later to ask him to take a letter to his love in the village, which Samson did. With every letter that Maddox sent, he included a folded paper bird that represented freedom from the Circle. (As we know from the song and from what Cullen tells us, the letters were discovered and Samson was ejected from the Templars while Maddox was made Tranquil as punishment for 'corrupting him'). At the Red Templar camp, Samson asks Maddox if he ever thinks about the time before he was Tranquil, to which Maddox responds that he can if Samson wants him to. As Samson leaves, however, Maddox makes a bird out of some scraps of steel.


	26. Bare your blade

Solana glared down at Nathaniel with her arms folded. As much as she desired to wipe that smug look from his lips, she was aware of the audience of villagers. Mage kills non-mage in the middle of a quaint Orlesian village? That never goes well for the mage, no matter who she might be. 

“Speak your terms,” she said. 

He continued to watch her as if sizing her up. If he was trying to intimidate her, it wasn’t working. He smiled. 

His hand lashed out. Before she even had time to react, she had a face full of sand. Her eyes burned and she spluttered, dashing it away.  _ The bastard!  _ He’d been waiting for her barrier to expire! When she managed to see again, Nathaniel was running across the square. She snatched her staff from her back and sent a bolt of arcane energy after him. It missed.

“Out of the way!” she called to the villagers as she ran after him. They scattered to the edges of the square, but it wasn’t often a little forest village saw this kind of spectacle. They hovered in the doorways of shops, or around the corners, peering at the action. This would make fighting him hard. She couldn’t use fire or electricity or any other spells that might cause collateral damage. 

Nathaniel dived over a cart just as she cast Winter’s Grasp at his back. The snap of the ice spell echoed in the square as the cart froze. Then a hush fell as even the onlookers seemed to be holding their breath. Had the spell hit him too? 

A murmur passed through the crowd, no one daring to venture near to the cart itself. Solana moved forward cautiously, her staff poised. The closer she came to the cart, the more tension gathered between her shoulder blades. She was almost convinced she’d managed to freeze him, when a pot on a nearby doorstep shattered. 

Instinctively she turned towards it. A blur of movement in the corner of her eye was the only warning she had before agony roared up her leg. She staggered, shrieked as her knee slammed into the ground.  

Nathaniel scarpered up onto a roof and out of sight. 

The pain was red hot, tearing through Solana’s senses. She barely had the presence of mind to cast Rock Armour over her skin. It spread from her palms like thick clay, dry and heavy, but the discomfort was nothing compared to the pain. She fell forward, cradling her injured leg. The arrow had torn through the fleshy part of her calf, pinning her skirt to her. Already, the area around the wound was swelling. 

The spectators yelled, but their voices blurred away. Another arrow hit her. She felt the impact, but her second skin held. It wouldn’t hold for much longer. Nausea washed over her as the pain changed from scarlet to bright white. 

For the first time it occurred to her that Nathaniel might actually win this duel. 

And then what would happen to Gideon? What would happen to Alise? To Cullen?  He would never forgive himself if she died when he’d been so near.

She channelled energy into the wound, just enough healing magic to keep her together, to help her win this fight. She tried to stand. Failed. She couldn’t quite get her feet under her. The square floated around her, as if she was half in the Fade. Spots crowded her vision. 

_ Shit. _ Poison. 

Another arrow slammed into her side. Her armour shattered. She flung a stone fist in the direction of the attack. It smashed into a fruit stall. In the spray of produce, she saw Nathaniel jump clear, onto another low roof. 

But in her delirium, it was not Nathaniel, but his father.  _ The flash of the knife in Rendon’s hand, the victims strapped to those torture tables. The smell of death. _ She drew on her pain, pulling the last of her mana into a tight, hot ball.

A rune manifested in the air above her, spitting and crackling with energy. She closed her eyes, honing in on him,  _ feeling  _ for him. Then she let the energy fly. Bolts of magic so bright they hurt her eyes darted towards Nathaniel. He tried to evade, but the power jolted into him. One bolt, then another, then another. He rolled from the roof, crashed through a marquee and then to the ground, where he convulsed.

Solana struggled to her feet, blood pumping hot through her shaking body. “Surrender!” 

He groaned but didn’t answer. 

She limped towards him. “Surrender!”

He hugged himself as the magic worked through him. “Alright, Hero. You win,” he mumbled.

Then he reached into a pocket and slammed a glass bottle to the ground. 

It exploded on impact. Noxious green smoke spread out from its shattered remains. The nearest villagers started choking before it even reached Solana. It stung her lungs the way the sand had stung her eyes. It made her stomach heave. She covered her mouth with her robes as she peered through the smoke to try see Nathaniel.

“He’s getting away!” someone yelled. 

She could just make him out, a dark shadow through the smoke. Her arm jerked to action with old instincts. A spell lashed out of the tip of her staff. Fire. She’d been aiming for his retreating back, but she hit his left arm. He stumbled and she thought she heard him cry out, but then he rounded a corner and she lost sight of him. She tried to follow, but with the immediate danger passed, her body gave in.     

She crumpled, weak from mana drain and mind going blank with pain from her leg. Strong hands gripped her shoulder and she hoped it was Cullen, that he’d somehow come to find her. But it was Gideon. He was thanking her, telling her she was a hero. She kept her eyes on the corner where Nathaniel had disappeared as she receded into darkness. 

 

* * *

 

 

Skyhold always looked spectacular, but there was something about the way the light hit the battlements on a clear spring day, the way the breeze teased across the leaves on the trees and played in the grass, that made Hawke’s heart sing. Or perhaps it was the company.

He’d accompanied Rylen on an inspection of the battlements. They paused in their walk while Rylen jotted some notes about a bird’s nest forming in some rafters. 

“So…” Hawke ventured when the quill stopped moving. “Did Cullen mention when he’d be back?” 

Rylen looked up at him and his heart beat a little faster. “Are you trying to ask how long I’ll be here?” 

“Maybe.” Hawke shifted his weight, a prickle of self-doubt rushing down his back.

“No, he didn’t say.” Rylen ticked off something else on the board. He dipped his pen into the inkwell and hovered it over the page. “You could come with me, if you’d like.” 

Hawke’s breath stopped. Rylen glanced at him, then back down at his work, too quickly to gauge his expression. 

“Come with you?” Hawke repeated, dumbly. 

“I realise the Western Approach isn’t everyone’s mug of ale, but we have a decent setup there, if I do say so myself. Things only try to kill us half the day. The other half, we’re killing them. It becomes something of a sport.” His eyes lingered on Hawke’s expression a moment longer than before. “Something tells me you wouldn’t mind being away from the general public for a time.” 

Hawke’s head was still reeling. He hadn’t imagined that, it hadn’t even occurred to him. He wasn’t bound to Skyhold. Corypheus was dead. Solana was Maker knows where. Anders was… a lump formed in his throat. 

“I can’t just leave.” 

“Of course you can’t, your bar stool would miss you too much.” Rylen’s retort was meant to be humorous, Hawke knew, but it stung regardless. 

“You  _ know  _ why.” 

Now Rylen’s full attention rested on Hawke’s face and Hawke wished it wouldn’t. Something flickered in the other man’s gaze and Hawke knew he understood exactly what he’d meant - that Hawke couldn’t leave, because Anders might decide to return - and that it had hurt. But Rylen didn’t argue, didn’t ask for confirmation. He simply nodded. “Fair enough.” 

They started moving together along the battlements again, but it didn’t feel the same.

 

* * *

 

Solana jerked awake to find herself in an unfamiliar room, full of people with unfamiliar faces hovering over her. 

“Cullen?” She tried to sit. 

“Easy there.” Gideon floated into view. He was holding a mug, and he offered it to her. She drank deeply. The water was sweet and cool. 

“How long was I out? Did they catch him?”

The crowd drew back as she struggled to her feet. Gideon caught her elbow. “You shouldn’t be standing yet. Should she be standing yet?”

The question was addressed to a woman beside him. Solana instantly recognised her as the healer from the mansion. But that wasn’t possible, was it? Was she still hallucinating?  

The woman gave a tight-lipped smile in greeting. “The effects of magebane don’t last long. I’m more concerned with what other poison he might have dipped that arrow in.”

_Arrow._ Solana looked down at her leg, remembering suddenly that she should have been in pain. But it was bound neatly, as her shoulder had been, and she felt nothing. “I'm fine.”

“Well that’s a relief.” Gideon chuckled and pushed is spectacles up his nose. “I don’t know what I’d have done if the Hero of Ferelden went and got herself killed for me.” 

They seemed to be crowded into a small back room. Solana could see the shop through a beaded curtain. The narrow bed where she’d awoken was draped in furs and the rest of the room was packed with boxes. “Gideon, I need to talk to you. Preferably alone.” 

The gathered throng twittered with excitement, but they left when Gideon cleared his throat and asked them to. The healer stayed, and he didn’t tell her to leave. 

When the three of them were alone, he put a hand on the healer’s shoulder. “This is my daughter, Cara.” 

_ Daughter. Mage. Kirkwall. _  The pieces were there but Solana didn't know how they fit together yet. “I thank you for your assistance, again, Cara. I’m sorry if I put you in danger.” Did the villagers know she was a mage? 

“Oh, no no no,” Gideon assured Solana. “You didn’t put us in danger. You saved us from danger. If you hadn’t been here when that Howe arrived, I hate to think what might have happened.” 

“Did they find him?” 

“Oh, I, I don’t know. We’ve only been in here a few minutes. The watch hasn’t reported back yet.” 

Good, she hadn’t been unconscious for long. 

Solana pushed the hair out of her eyes and raked her nails along her scalp. So, Cara had been near the mansion, presumably in the nearest village. Why was she here now? It was too unlikely to be a mere coincidence. 

"I know you know where Raoul is," Solana said, dropping all pretense. 

Gideon’s expression instantly darkened. A good sign.

“Camille told me to ask here. She said she was to write here when the baby came. That you'd be able to get in touch with-”

Gideon sat down heavily on a crate. "You didn't say there was a baby." 

Cara flinched. 

Of course! Camille had said the _shop_ name, not _his_ name. Solana  addressed the next question directly at the healer. “I need to know where the Wardens are. I need to find them before they hurt themselves.”

Cara folded her arms. “First answer me this. How is it that Knight-Captain Cullen landed up with a mage? Are you really married or was that all a front for the d’Arbes’ benefit?”

_Mage. Kirkwall._ She knew Cullen from Kirkwall like Hawke did. Like Anders did. Cullen never spoke of his time in the Gallows, but Solana knew the man he must have been. She’d caught a glimpse of it when they’d rescued him from Kinloch. _You must kill everyone up there._

And Cara had seen them at the mansion and recognised him. _Mage. Kirkwall._  Was she working for Anders? Had she come here to warn him that Cullen was nearby? 

“Cullen’s different now,” Solana said. 

Magic still frightened him. She recalled the way he’d stood watch over her training lessons, the day Celeste had revealed herself, and their arguments about the future of the Circles. It was clear that he didn’t trust magic. But there was magic and then there were the individuals who wielded it. Since she’d been with the Inquisition she’d never once seen him treat a mage with anything less than kindness and respect. 

“We are married,” she added. And she was surprised at the pride that filled her chest when she declared it. “We have a daughter. She’s a mage too.” 

It was possibly a fib, and likely the truth. Alise had been Tranquil and only Mages were susceptible to Tranquility, weren’t they?

“Why are you looking for the Wardens?” Cara asked.

Solana weighed her words. “I think the man leading them is planning war. At the very least a strike against the Chantry.”

“Anders?”

Solana jolted.  _ Confirmation?  _ "Yes. Anders. Please understand, he's my friend. I mean him no harm. I only wish to-"

“They’re in the woods.” 

“Cara,” Gideon cautioned. 

“They come into town ever so often for supplies, pay good money to stay hidden. Won’t talk about what they’re doing.” 

“Cara, girl…” Gideon’s voice went sing-song. He was gentling her as if she was much younger. 

Cara turned to her father, “She’s the Hero of Ferelden, dad. If we can’t trust her, who can we trust?” 

She crossed the room and dug into one of the boxes. Gideon fidgeted. Solana was too surprised to speak. 

At length, Cara withdrew a folded piece of parchment. “Thing is, they’re not just collecting Wardens, are they?” she asked Solana, frankly.

Solana shook her head. “What have you seen?” 

“Last time I was here visiting dad, they approached me. They said I had a duty to fight to keep mages free. I told them I’m done with that. Spent most my life afraid. Now I live in a village where nobody bats an eyelash at my magic. They need a healer and they appreciate me, as a person. I don’t want to get caught up in some war.” She passed Solana the parchment. “They gave me this in case I changed my mind.” 

Gideon rubbed his face and sighed. “Cara, if they trace this back to you…”

“The Hero won’t let harm come to us.” She looked at Solana significantly. “Isn’t that right?” 

“That’s right.” The parchment held a rough map. Solana’s heart beat a little faster. “I’ll admit I thought you must have come here to warn Anders we were looking for him.”  _ Why are you here and not in your village? _ Was the unasked question. 

Cara gave a hollow laugh and rubbed her arms. “The mages are the ones in charge, you know? The Wardens… they seem tired. I don’t know how else to say it. Drawn. Sombre. I don’t know if maybe all Wardens are like that. The mages… they’re proud. An odd thing to see, coming from Kirkwall, I can tell you that much. Heads up high like the Divine herself blessed their bogroll.” 

Solana suppressed a smile at Cara’s colourful language. “Mages holding their heads up high, fancy that.”

“Yeah. Look, I’m all for mage rights. Clearly.” She held out her arms for emphasis. “But I get a little nervous when mages start getting that _particular_ look. Like the rest of them is dirt, you know? That leads to fireworks. Not the good kind.  I don’t want dad to get caught in the middle of it. But the old geyser won’t leave.”

“Oy!” Gideon gave her a severe look, but his mouth twitched. To Solana, he said, “This is my home. There’s always something going on with the Mages and Templars. When she saw your husband, she thought to come and convince me to leave before -”

“And since he won’t go, I have no choice but to help you sort all of this out. You can do that, right?”

Solana truly hoped she could. 

 

***

 

Solana wanted nothing more than to get back to Cullen and tell him everything that had happened, but Gideon insisted she get supplies for her journey - even after she explained she was trying to travel light. There were still people hanging around his store, no doubt hoping for gossip, and when Gideon was unsuccessful in convincing her to take his charity, they led her outside and took her from stall to stall, offering her everything from Royale Sea Silk scarves to rare herbs. She accepted a pair of boots from a cobbler, insisting she’d return to pay for them, and was about to finally take her leave when some of the baker’s latest offerings caught her eye. There, in between the lemon tart and the fresh scones, was a blackberry pie.

She remembered Cullen’s childlike delight when they’d found that blackberry bush in Haven. So uncharacteristic, and she hadn’t seen such happiness cross his features in ages. Perhaps this purchase would wrest a rare smile from him. 

The baker wrapped it in clean cloth so she could put it in her pack, and then she at last managed to slip away from the square while two other storekeepers were arguing over which would show her their wares first. 

Alone in a small alleyway between two buildings, Solana took a moment to sit on an old barrel and examine her leg. It wouldn’t do for Cullen to see she’d been injured again, and the bandage was conspicuous. She unwound it carefully, taking note of exactly how it was applied in case she had no choice but to re-apply it. 

Her robes were torn - of course. And there was a large section missing from her stocking around where the wound had been. Thankfully, however, the skin was smooth. There was a small red mark that would no doubt heal within the next few hours. The spellwork was almost as fine as Wynne’s. 

She could still hear the sound of the square, the stall owners arguing, dogs barking, children playing. They sounded so close, which is probably why she wasn’t paying better attention to the fact she was alone. A movement in a doorway opposite startled her. She could just make out a figure standing watching her. She jerked her hand to her staff as Nathaniel moved slowly into the light. He was holding up his hands in front of him, where she might see them.

“Five,” he said. 

“What?” 

“Times I've had the opportunity to kill you and haven’t.” He cocked his head. “I thought I might open with that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate writing action scenes so huge thanks go to TheWinterWren and Morgalahan for helping me out with this one, in addition to my other two lovely betas. 
> 
> Cara (in name, appearance and profession at least) is a cameo from my beta, Sulahn's, original fiction story The Physician's Apprentice which is due out soon. The main character is a healer who has to hide that she's a woman in a steampunk-influenced domed society suffering from a plague outbreak. I highly recommend checking it out! https://yolandiehorak.com/2018/06/27/book-talk-the-physicians-apprentice


	27. A rogue and a thief

“I’m not here to kill you, I’m here to talk.” Nathaniel started to lower his hands, but Solana waved her staff at him and he kept them where they were. 

“So speak.”

“I have a proposal.”

“I’m not interested.”

“You’ve not heard what it is.” 

She quirked an eyebrow and he smiled, showing no teeth. “I propose we set aside our differences and work together. We both want the same thing.”

“No, we don’t want the same thing. You want me dead.”

“If I truly wished you dead, you’d be dead. I could have laced that arrow with anything.” He shifted further into the light, still holding up his hands. She noticed that the one was burned, where she’d caught him during the duel. “Did it ever occur to you that I was particularly bad at killing you for someone who supposedly had all those famous Grey Warden abilities?”

“Being incompetent is hardly a defense.”

He chuckled darkly. “Now you sound like my father.” 

She narrowed her eyes and he must have seen that she was not amused because he sighed. 

“Look, truth is, when I picked up your trail I  _ did _ wish you dead. When I shot you, I meant to kill you. But at the very last instant, I could not do it. I jerked my arm.”

“And then you tried to suffocate me.”

“I was angry. I read the situation incorrectly. But I could not bring myself to slit your throat. Watched you sleep for a while, though. Tossing and turning, what does the Hero dream I wonder-”

“And this duel?” 

“I thought you might have figured that out yourself. Nothing brings people together like a shared enemy.”

He was right. The way the villagers had treated her after she defeated him, she could have asked for anything. “It was all a show,” she said slowly. 

“Absolutely. Although at one point I thought you might honestly kill me.” He gestured with his burnt hand. “Don’t suppose you have some salve?”

Clattering armour the other end of the alley interrupted the conversation. Cullen stumbled into view.

“Solana!” He came towards them, gasping for breath. When he spotted just who she was talking to, he drew his sword. He was red-faced and wet with sweat, but he pointed his weapon at Nathaniel’s stomach with a steady hand. “You! You dare approach her again!”

She may not have required his protection, but Solana flushed with warmth at him coming to her defense like this. 

“You can lower your weapon,” Nathaniel said. “I do not intend to harm your wife.”

“You don’t honestly expect me to believe that?”

Nathaniel’s eyes darted to Solana as if asking for her confirmation. “We were merely talking.” 

She tucked her staff away. “Nathaniel wishes to travel with us.” 

“Is that so?” Cullen practically growled. 

“Yes, that is so.” If he was affected by Cullen’s tone, Nathaniel didn’t show it. “We are all after the same thing. We might pool our resources.”

“What resources?” 

“Well.” Nathaniel glanced at Solana again. “You now have the location of the Wardens. And I have considerable knowledge of the forest, and I carry the Taint. Do I need to explain what that means?”

The last was directed specifically at Solana. He was questioning her legitimacy as a Warden again. While her first instinct was to defend herself, there were more important matters at hand. “You mean you’ll be able to sense the Wardens before we approach them.” 

He nodded. That certainly would be useful, and it would mean avoiding any further surprises like they’d had from the darkspawn. 

Cullen scowled. “Absolutely not.” 

“There are two of you and one of me. If you do not trust me, by all means set a watch. That should not present too much of a challenge given that you already sleep in shifts.” 

The fact that he’d been watching them sleep sent a chill through Solana, but she understood what he was doing. He was pointing out how much opportunity he’d already had to kill her if he wanted to. 

“Would you come along as a prisoner?” she asked. 

He chuckled. “Not quite what I had in mind. But if it puts you at ease to bind me, so be it. I don’t much care how I get to the Wardens, so long as I do.”

Cullen looked to Solana, the familiar exasperation in the slant of his eyebrows. “You aren’t honestly considering this?” 

She was. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it. He was exhausted, dishevelled and possibly ill, but he’d come and found her, no doubt as soon as he’d heard about the duel. And here he was standing ready to defend her with the very last of his strength. To invite Nathaniel along would be to throw that back in his face. Echoes of an old argument came back to her. 

_ “If I truly keep trying to kill myself, how come I’m still here?”  _

_ “Because I keep getting in your way.” _

She didn’t want him to feel that way. 

“You heard what Cullen said. Absolutely not.” 

Nathaniel shook his head. “You’re making a mistake.” 

“I believe the watch is looking for you.” Solana nodded at Cullen, and he prodded Nathaniel with the tip of his blade. 

The Warden was surprisingly cooperative. He let them lead him back into the square, where the villagers stopped and stared and a few even cheered. 

They handed him into the custody of the village watch, such as it was. The gaol was nothing but a stone building with bars across the door, but it should keep him. At least for now. 

“We should move on as soon as-” Solana started to say as they walked away from the building, but Cullen pulled her around to face him. 

His muscles were tensed and she braced herself for his admonishment. She’d put herself in danger yet again.

“Are you all right?” he asked instead. 

He held her shoulders and stared into her face. The intensity of that gaze… it made her head light. She wasn’t sure how to answer. Did she tell him about the arrow and the poison? He still looked a little peaked, although not as bad as earlier. She reached up to touch the pink spot on one of his cheeks. Fever?

“Are  _ you _ all right? Perhaps we should stay the night?”  

Only when her fingertips brushed his skin did she realise how intimate the gesture was. He closed his eyes, but he didn’t flinch from her touch. 

“No, we should continue. Although, perhaps, supplies? ” 

Going on what she’d experienced thus far, that would delay them even more than a rest at the inn, and she wouldn’t put it past some of the stall owners to follow her and Cullen right out of the village trying to convince them to purchase wares. She shook her head. A quiet escape was preferable. 

“We have supplies enough. I picked up some things earlier.”

“Very well.” 

They moved quietly along the edge of the village and slipped away into the forest. 

 

* * *

 

Celeste swallowed down her nerves and closed the door carefully behind her. With a flick of her wrists, she lit the lamps.  

“This is it?” Samson asked. 

He wandered further into the room that had once been Fiona’s research laboratory, looking around with interest. The shelves were still lined with dusty books, but the vials were gone. As was the collection of Tevinter books and scrolls that Fiona had brought to Skyhold with her. Now dust gathered thick on the desk and spiderwebs glinted in the dim light. 

“It’s spooky, I’ll give it that.” Samson turned to Celeste and leaned back against the desk. He smiled.  

She’d expected him to be disgusted as Hawke had been, or as incredulous as Cullen. This was the room where Fiona had concocted the potions she’d used to torture him, her failed blight cures. 

Celeste had felt obligated to bring him here, to show him, but now he kept his eyes locked firmly on her. “Not a bad spot for a rendezvous.”   

A flush crept up to her cheeks. She wasn’t used to being alone with him. Samson was still concerned about people targeting her if they learned of their involvement, so they’d hardly seen each other in public either since his confession. 

“I… I didn’t bring you here for… I mean…” she stammered. She drew a breath to steady herself, although she couldn’t look at him as she continued. “I’m not even sure what we’d do if I had. What do lovers do when they’re not touching?” 

“Lovers?” He pressed off the desk and started towards her. His movements were slow and careful. “I like the sound of that.” 

“But I... ” Her heart beat so rapidly, she could hear it in her ears.

He stopped and held up his hands in front of him. “I’m not going to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I promised, didn’t I?” 

She nodded. 

“May I hold your hand?” 

The question surprised her and she saw doubt chase across his features in reaction. Her stomach tightened as she gingerly offered it to him. 

His rough soldier’s fingers entwined with hers. The pad of his thumb stroked across the back of her hand, sending shivers up her arm. 

“This alright?” he asked, voice low and soft. 

Her face was hot. “What you must think of me. I’m twenty eight years of age and holding hands is all...”

“Shh,” he said. “None of that. This is good.” He laughed softly, looking down at their interlocked fingers. “You’re younger than I thought. I’m quite a bit older than you.”

“I don’t care about that.” 

“You could do far better. You don’t need to settle-”

“-I’m not.” 

He breathed out and drew her hand up to his face, nuzzling into her palm. “Thank you.” 

“For what?” 

“This,” he said. “Everything.”

_ Everything?  _ It was hardly anything at all. They were little more than friends in practice, even if she had acknowledged the existence of deeper feelings. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She felt out of place in her own skin. 

Samson lifted his gaze to hers. There was a strange look in his eyes and she didn’t know how to interpret it. Fear, perhaps? She was about to reassure him when he spoke. 

“Would you come somewhere with me, if I asked you to?”

“Somewhere?” 

“Yeah. Somewhere not here. Not Skyhold.” 

Her heart started thumping again, and this time the sensation was less pleasant. “I thought you weren’t supposed to leave Skyhold.”

“I’m not.”

“Raleigh, don’t do this.”

He said nothing. His expression revealed nothing. 

“Why now? I thought you were happy?” She tried not to let the hurt leak into her voice, but was entirely unsuccessful. 

“I am. Happier than I’ve ever been. Far more than I deserve.” He dropped her hand and paced away. He leaned against one of the old bookshelves and his hair fell forward to obscure his face. “You see, there’s this… it don’t feel right to be happy here. Not when… but you’re right. Of course you’re right. It was wrong of me to even ask.” 

She approached him carefully and rested a hand on his arm. “Leave the past in the past, Raleigh. You’ve got everything here you need to start a new life. Don’t throw it all away.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. She wished he sounded more certain.

 

* * *

  
  


The map to the Grey Wardens was scrawled hastily with some sort of charcoal crayon and the lines smudged whenever Solana touched them, but it beat trying to follow the stars in the forest. The last time she’d actually been able to see the sky, she had been able to confirm that they were near to their destination but not much else. It was like Leliana had gotten hold of half of a message. 

Now they had the other half, even if it did keep threatening to rub off on her hands. 

Cullen had been quiet since the village, but he didn’t seem to be sickly. The brief rest must have helped, and it certainly should have at the price. When he’d given the purse back to her, she’d found it considerably lighter. She’d raised her eyebrows at him in query, and he’d shrugged and muttered something about Orlesian inns. 

She had a feeling they’d taken advantage upon hearing his Fereldan accent and he hadn’t thought to haggle. If that was the case, she could see why he didn’t want to talk more of it. No matter. It was unlikely they’d need coin where they were going. 

The map led them away from the river, via a series of landmarks so subtle you wouldn’t have noticed them had you not been looking for them. They put Solana’s trick with the locks of hair to shame. The first of these was a wicker weft, like those found in the Witchwood, dangling from between two branches. A vague path led through a tangle of trees, and then a bright red sprig of embrium signalled a turn to the right. 

“Do you feel like we’re being watched?” Cullen asked after this turn, eyes roving.

Solana rolled her shoulders, trying to ignore the tingling between the blades. “Maybe we should leave the route to camp for the night?”

He nodded, pressing his lips together, brow furrowed. 

They weaved between the trees, in an unpredictable pattern that Solana was sure to note down so they’d find their way back. The light was beginning to fade, streaking orange through the branches, when they came to a small glade and Cullen suggested they make camp. So Solana tucked the map safely in the pack so she could help him set up.

She left him building the fire while she put up the tents. She’d just finished securing his when she heard him grunt. 

She found him kneeling by her pack, digging through it. “I thought you said you bought supplies?” At his heels was the blackberry pie, hastily tossed aside, still half wrapped in cloth. “There isn’t anything here, Solana! You bought a cake? Is that what you meant by supplies? How are we supposed to live off cake?”

Her heart kicked and started beating rapidly. She’d been looking forward to presenting it to him, now her mind struggled to make sense of his reaction. Before she’d found words to respond, he’d clambered to his feet and rounded on her. 

“You have done a lot of ridiculous things this trip but this-” He waved at the discarded pie.

Humour sprung to the surface of her thoughts, like a barrier snapping into place around her heart. “Takes the cake?” she suggested. 

He growled at her, an ugly sneer across his mouth, cheeks bright red with rage. “Maker’s breath, we’re in the middle of the forest, there’s nothing around for miles expect our enemy. This is serious. Can you not be serious?”

Heat clawed up her neck. “We’re in a forest-”

“-I am well aware.” He turned around, clutching at his hair. “We’ll have to go back to the village. Waste another day’s travel. How could you do this?” 

She was trying to remain unaffected, and failing. Tears pricked her eyes. “It was a gift,” she managed. “I thought you’d like it.” 

“Like it?” He raised his voice. “Why in the Void would I like it?” 

She didn’t trust herself to respond without falling apart, so she turned heel and stalked into her tent.

 

* * *

 

Cullen heaved in air and let himself fall to his knees in the dirt. He scrubbed at his face, willing his speeding heart to calm. Was he overreacting? She  _ had _ assured him she had bought supplies. He’d trusted her. He hadn’t checked himself. He should have checked. He had himself to blame for that. Still, she was the Hero, she kept  _ reminding  _ him she was the Hero. She surely hadn’t survived a year on the road on  _ cake _ ?

But he shouldn’t have lost his temper. That had accomplished nothing. He had managed to secure a single vial of lyrium from a dwarf in the village, but the tiny dose he’d taken had only been enough to take the edge off his withdrawal. His emotions were still so very close to the surface. He was tempted to take more to steady himself, but he needed to make it last as long as possible. Plus, he couldn’t risk Solana finding him in the process - he’d only just managed to hide the leather pouch with the vial and apparatus at the bottom of the pack before she’d started setting up his tent. A close enough call. 

He drew another steadying breath and reached for the offending cake instead, intending to pack it away again. He grabbed it with too much force, and it crumbled apart, revealing the centre. 

Not a cake. A pie. And in the centre - the smell hit him full in the face, whisking him back instantly to childhood, to a table surrounded by people who loved him - blackberries. 

_ It was a gift. I thought you’d like it.  _

Oh, Maker.

He could do nothing but stare at it, lying there.  _ Idiot. Royal fool. _ It wasn’t just a food he liked, it was a symbol, representing  _ them _ , calling to mind those days in Haven, and the mementos she’d left for him when they’d been parted. And even that first currant bun. What had it meant to her? What was it supposed to signify? A possible future? What had she planned to say when she delivered it to him? He’d never know. 

He scrambled to his feet and propelled himself to her tent. He plunged through the entrance, not even thinking to stop long enough to ask entry. 

She was pressed up against the back of the tent with her knees drawn to her chest. 

“Blackberries,” he panted. “A gift. Solana, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise. I thought… this wasn’t what you meant by supplies?” 

She shook her head. 

He dropped his face into his hands.

“Cullen, I didn’t buy much food,” she admitted in a small voice. “We’re in a forest. During the Bl- I mean I thought maybe we could hunt. It would save us having to carry so much.” 

He noticed how she’d sidestepped talking about the Blight. No doubt concerned about his jealousy. He couldn’t meet her gaze. “I’m not much of a hunter I’m afraid.” 

“I am.” She shifted a little closer. “It will be alright. We’re not going to starve to death. You don’t have to be afraid.”

So that’s what she thought this was? That’s how she justified his awful behaviour? Fear? He wanted to laugh, but he doubted he could dredge laughter up even if he was truly amused. 

“I apologise for how I’ve been acting. I realise I’ve been…” He trailed off, searching for a word that adequately encompassed it. 

“An arse?” she supplied. 

He glanced up at her then, to see that familiar little half smile on her pink lips. He returned the expression, as best he could. 

She reached forward and took his hand - did she notice how clammy he was? - and squeezed it. Her touch had a magic all its own. When her skin was against his, it felt like nothing could go wrong, like he wasn’t such a complete failure, like he wasn’t doomed by his own foolish actions. Like he wasn’t alone. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it. He wanted to close his eyes and lose himself in it. 

“Pie for dinner?” she asked.

“You don’t like berries.”

She shrugged. “I can always eat the crust.”

As he exited the tent, the first sign that anything was amiss was that the pack was tipped on its side, the contents strewn about. Had he done that? 

But as he packed it up again, he noticed one vital item missing.

The map was gone. 


	28. All is undone

_ Dear Hawke, _

_ So here's what I know and I'm afraid it's not very good.  _

_ Oh, Anders isn't dead though. Well, I don't think he is. At least he may only be dead in the metaphorical sense. As in Justice is now using his body. How does that even work?  _

_ Anyhoo, I've been tracking that Grey Warden who told me he was dead. He's been following some trail of missing Wardens. (I thought that might interest you). I think the poor fool might be a few quarts short of a gallon, though. He attacked the Hero of Ferelden some nights ago and then followed her and her Templar to a village where he practically begged her to let him join their mission to stop Anders. So, on the one hand, everyone seems to agree Anders is alive after all. On the other hand, if he is alive, he has the Hero of Ferelden after him.  _

_ And uh... about her Templar. You remember that Knight Captain Cullen from Kirkwall, don't you? He was the one with his head up Meridith's arse. Seems he's working with the Hero to track Anders. I'm sure he's champing at the bit to get revenge for the chantry.  _

_ Soo... How fast can you get to Orlais?  _

_ Admiral Isabella _

 

_ P.S. Cost me a fortune to ensure this reached you tonight. I trust this more than makes up for that business with the arishok. _

 

_ P.P.S. Seems Anders is holed up in some ruins near the source of the Arlesans. You’re welcome. _

 

* * *

  
Varric had seen his fair share of bar fights, and he knew that the best place to be during them was outside the bar in question. The second best place was on a stool on a table at the edge of the room, where he could get a good view.

He wasn’t sure what had started this one. Usually there was a kind of electricity in the air before a brawl. Not this time. This time it had erupted out of nowhere.

He peered at the heaving crowd from atop his stool, taking mental notes and wondering if anyone was placing bets on a victor yet or whether he should start the pool. Although he couldn’t actually see the fight. He could see a ring of people pressed together and some kind of scuffle in the middle. And he could  _ hear _ shouting. Lots of shouting.

Cabot’s voice boomed slightly louder than the others, and Varric saw he’d taken refuge on his own bar. He was red in the face, yelling at the centre of the chaos. A man launched himself out of said chaos - like a shark jumping at a chunk of meat - and seemed to make a go for Cabot.

_ Oh shit. _

It was Hawke.

“Did you know?” Hawke yelled, muscles straining as he tried to get at the bewildered barkeep, held back by two other men. “You know everything that happens here. Did you know about this?”

Varric scrambled down from his stool and elbowed his way towards his friend. It was like swimming upstream.

“Hawke!” Varric called, when he was close enough. “What in the-”

Hawke rounded on  _ him _ . Lightning shot up the arms of the men restraining him. They screamed, letting go, and six feet of sparking, raging, mage stalked towards Varric.

“You! You knew, didn’t you? Is that why you came back?” 

Varric backed away, throwing furniture between him and Hawke. “What in the Void are you talking about Hawke?” 

“Anders! You knew where he was! You knew the whole time!”

There was more noise at the door, authoritative voices that must have been the soldiers arriving. But Varric didn’t dare turn to look. 

“Hawke, will you calm down? Listen to yourself!”

Hawke waved a piece of parchment in Varric’s direction. “They’re going to kill him! Or he’s going to kill them! Was it you? Did you send them? Did you send my cousin to kill my love?” 

_ Ah. Well, shit.  _

A circle of space had cleared in the crowd around them. Even those who had been fighting before seemed to be watching this development. 

Varric held up his hands in front of him. “Now Hawke…”

Hawke lurched at him, but something snagged him back. He rounded, fist formed, ready to swing a punch at that something. But it - which turned out to be Knight-Captain Rylen - grabbed his wrist, stopping the punch before it landed. 

“Hawke...” he said, gently. 

“Did you know?” Hawke demanded.

“Did I know what?” he asked, levelly. Only the slight vibration in his arms showed the strength it was taking to hold Hawke still. None of it reflected in his lilting voice. 

“Of course you knew. You came in to replace Cullen. Of course you knew where he was going. Is that why you approached me? Is that why you-”

“Hawke,” Rylen snapped. And it was the first time Varric had ever heard that steel in his voice. “Let’s take this outside, shall we?” 

It looked like Hawke was going to challenge him. Then his face fell, and he collapsed forward. Rylen wrapped his arms around him and led him out. 

It took a few minutes before the normal hum of the tavern re-established itself. Varric wasn’t sure whether he should follow, make sure Hawke was okay. 

He shivered. The way Hawke had looked at him… it would probably be safer to check on him in the morning. He went to the bar and ordered a large drink. A very large one.

 

* * *

 

Hawke found himself in Cullen’s office, seated behind the desk, holding a mug of water. The roaring in his ears had dulled a little, but the crumpled letter in his hands brought it back again. The hand holding the mug shook. 

“You knew,” he said again, to Rylen who was standing across from him. “That’s why you fucked me. As a distraction. So I didn’t go after them.”

“You’re drunk,” Rylen said. 

“No. I’m not.”

Rylen slammed his hands onto the desk and leaned over it, at once threatening. “You are drunk, or else I will have to put you in the dungeon.” 

Hawke pushed himself to standing. “Why?”

“Do you even remember shocking those men down in the bar?” 

Shocking? Vaguely he remembered unwelcome hands on him. Is that how he’d gotten rid of them? 

“If you’re losing control of your magic while sober, we have an even bigger problem. So, you are drunk.”

“Speaks the Templar.”

Rylen glared at him. “Perhaps you  _ should _ be alone for a time.”

“You’re going to lock me up?” Hawke came around the desk, heart racing, anger simmering. “I dare you to try.” 

Rylen shook his head. “What is this about, Hawke?” 

“I know. I found out.”

“What is it you found out?” 

Hawke threw the crumpled letter at him. Rylen sighed as he stooped to pick it up. He smoothed it out on the desk. His mouth moved as he read it. Then his eyes met Hawke’s. 

“I see.” 

“So?” Hawke folded his arms. “Do you deny it now?”

“Deny what, Hawke?” Rylen sounded tired. 

“Deny that you were involved in this! You said Cullen had to leave on assignment. Did you know his assignment was to kill Anders?” 

“No, I did not.” 

“You might as well tell me the truth.” 

“The truth is that I was called back when Cullen left the Inquisition after that incident with Solana and the baby. Lady Cassandra asked me to stay on. I did not know the details of his current mission.” 

Hawke rubbed his arms, he suddenly felt cold. “Why did you approach me, then?” 

Rylen sighed again and he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “This is ridiculous, and you are drunk. You’re hurting. You want me to fight you. I’m not going to.” He tilted his head towards the door. “Come along. I’ll take you back to your quarters.” 

“Oh, I need a Templar escort, do I?” 

Hawke saw the words hit home, saw the hurt in Rylen’s eyes. But he seized Hawke’s arm and dragged him out the door. 

“Let go of me!” Hawke tried to pull free as Rylen marched him along the ramparts to the visitor quarters. “I’m perfectly capable of walking myself.”

Rylen didn’t even appear to hear him. He kept his grip firm until they reached the quarters. 

The baby was crying. The Maker-foresaken baby was crying.    
  
_Solana…_

A fist of regret drove itself into Hawke’s chest and he almost choked.  _ Maker, what if he kills her… what if Justice kills her? What if he kills them both? And the way I left things with her… but what if she kills him?  _

He tried to pull free of Rylen again, only half aware that he was letting off a litany of curses directed at Templars in general and Rylen in particular. When Rylen’s strong arms held him pressed against his door, he gave up struggling and sobbed. “I have to go to him. I have to help him. He doesn’t stand a chance against both of them. I have to warn him.”

Rylen somehow got the door open. The familiar smell of home hit Hawke. Was that what this was now? And memories of Anders, those first weeks when he’d found Hawke here. His beautiful expressive eyes begging for forgiveness, for love. If Hawke had been better at answering those pleas, would it have come to this? 

He wasn’t sure how much he was thinking and how much he was saying out loud as Rylen manhandled him inside.

And then the door was closing. Rylen was on the other side. Hawke was on the bed and he fell backwards, letting despair and fear claim him completely.

 

* * *

  
  


Helen slammed a hand down on the kitchen counter, sending a spray of flour up into the sunlight that was filtering through the window next to her. “And then he said, did you send my cousin to kill my lover? And the Knight-Captain is standing right there, he is. You should have seen the look on his face. My  _ lover _ .”

Marsha whistled through her teeth and shook her head. “And what did he do then?” 

“Only thing he could do - he stopped the fight and bundled Hawke out of the place. Hawke was still raving as they left.” 

Celeste looked up from her work briefly to eye Marsha, who was folding pastries beside her. “You really shouldn’t encourage her,” she whispered. “She’s probably making half of it up.” 

Unfortunately, Helen, who was prone to gossip, heard Celeste and put her hands on her hips. “I am not. You can ask anybody who was there at the tavern last night.” 

Marsha nodded. “It’s true, I heard it from Fred the stable boy this morning when I went to get milk. Apparently Hawke received a letter at the tavern last night and started a brawl. You’re friends with his cousin, aren’t you? Do you think she’s really hunting Anders?” 

Celeste chewed on her lip. Was Anders ‘Blondie’? Maker, did that mean that it was Anders who had been trying to lure her to Orlais? Anders was against the Chantry. Everyone knew that. It sounded obvious that it would be Anders… but that voice, that presence, hadn’t  _ felt _ like Anders. Maybe he was just good at masking his identity? If it  _ was  _ him… did that mean Leliana had sent Solana to kill him? Using  _ her _ map?

“No,” she said out loud. “Solana and Anders are friends. She wouldn’t kill him. Maybe she’s gone to find him to bring him back.”

_ She probably thinks she can talk sense into him because of their friendship, stop him from attacking the Chantry. Oh, Solana. Why do you always have to try be the hero? _

“Do you think Hawke will go after them?” Marsha asked. 

Celeste shrugged. 

“Imagine having both the Hero and the Champion after you. I wouldn’t want to be Anders.” Marsha chuckled. 

“I wouldn’t want to be Knight-Captain Rylen, caught in the middle of all this,” Helen added.    
  


* * *

 

 

Hawke turned over. His mouth tasted like pickled sand. For a blissful few moments his world was nothing but a sour headache. Then he remembered. He shot up. 

Anders. He had to get to Anders before…

Someone pounded on the door. Was that what had woken him? He ignored it, knowing it was no one he wanted to speak to. He grabbed a pack from against the wall and began shoving clothes into it, but the insistent banging reverberated in his aching head. 

“Shut up!” he yelled. 

“Hawke!” It was Varric. Shit, Varric. He’d nearly attacked Varric. 

Hawke pressed his fingers to his painful eyeballs, pausing for a moment in his packing. “The door’s open.”

Rylen had left it unlocked the night before. 

_ Rylen… _

Hawke pushed the thought of him from his mind and resumed packing as Varric came inside.

There was silence for a moment, then Varric said quietly, “I was going to ask how you’re doing but-”

“How do you think I’m doing? I’m sorry, I don’t have time to talk. I have to get to Anders. I have to stop him - or protect him. Or-”

Varric took his arm, halting it in its mission to shove clothing into the pack as fast as possible. “Hawke… Solana and Cullen left over a week ago.”

As much as Hawke riled against the idea that he was already too late, the thought did give him pause. He hung his head, trying to will his heart to stop pounding so hard. “Tell me truthfully: did you know?” 

“It’s more complicated than that.” 

“So you did know.”

“Are you going to punch me if I answer?” 

Hawke finally looked at him. Varric’s eyes were wide and sad, his chin tucked in that way he had when he was truly ashamed. It was all the answer Hawke needed. He wrenched his arm free and began digging in his drawer again. His fingers brushed the oil bottle and guilt stabbed him in the gut. Twofold guilt. Guilt for betraying Anders, guilt for hurting Rylen. He was a mess. Who was he to tell Solana to be careful of hurting people when he wrecked everything he touched? 

Varric breathed out through his nostrils and stepped back to sit on the bed. “Here’s what happened. The truth. I got Cullen’s letter about the phylacteries and it worried me because I had heard that mages had been disappearing. I get here and the Nightingale tells me Wardens are missing - again - and she and Cullen have tracked it to Anders. Those three things together? Not good. I didn’t intend to send your cuz after him. But Nightingale thought it was a better bet than making a military strike. Maybe Solana can talk him down, convince him there’s another way.”

“And you didn’t think I might be interested?” Hawke turned to Varric. “After  _ everything _ we’ve been through together? You couldn’t do me the courtesy of telling me?”  

“I would have. If it was anything else. But Hawke… you don’t think  _ sense  _ when it comes to Anders. You remember when we were in the Vimmark mountains? And Corypheus took control of Anders? You remember when he tried to kill us?” 

_ My love, please… help me. _

“He didn’t want to kill us. That was Corypheus. What’s your point?” 

“My point is that you were willing to let all of us die.”

“I wasn’t,” Hawke said through gritted teeth. But he remembered the scene - wild magic shooting from the helpless mage as he struggled under the magister’s control. Ducking behind a rock, refusing to strike back, refusing to let anyone else strike back. Carver had eventually ignored that order, punching Anders in the face hard enough that he lost consciousness. 

“Anders is my responsibility,” Hawke added, only realising after the words left his mouth that he was echoing what he’d said to Trevelyan about Corypheus. 

Varric gave him a knowing look as he clambered to his feet again. “If you want to go running after Blondie again, I’m not going to stop you. It’s your life, Hawke. But I’m your friend. Or at least I was last I checked. And as your friend I need to tell you that if you have a responsibility to anyone right now, it’s not Anders.”

“Don’t give me that. The Inquisition doesn’t need me. It has more heroes than it knows what to do with.”

Varric shook his head. “I wasn’t talking about the Inquisition, Hawke.”

It took him a good few seconds of staring at Varric’s imploring face to work out what he meant. “Rylen.”

“You said some harsh things last night. And that’s just the bits that I heard.” 

Hawke’s mouth was suddenly sand again. “Rylen will be fine. He knows where things stand with me.”  _ He knows I’m complicated, I’m a mess. _ “He knows things weren’t serious.”

“Really? Because he’s been walking around looking like someone punched him in the stomach. Don’t throw a good thing away, Hawke. Go speak to him.”

_ Shit _ . There was that guilt again, coiling around Hawke’s heart and squeezing. The very last thing he wanted to do was face the man after the things he’d said. 

“There isn’t time. Isabella said that they hadn’t found Anders yet. If I hurry…”

Varric just looked at him.

 

* * *

  
Hawke rapped gently on the door, even though it was open and he could see Rylen sitting at his desk inside. 

Rylen looked up at the sound, his expression inscrutable. 

“Have a minute?” Hawke asked. A wave of nausea washed over him. He could feel his heartbeat drumming through him like a shudder. 

Rylen gave him a sad smile as he rose from his desk. He walked past Hawke to press the door closed. He took a moment, leaning against it, with his head bowed, before he straightened. 

“I’m sorry for what I said last night,” Hawke said. 

“I know you are.”

“I was drunk and angry. I didn’t know what I was saying.”  

“I know.” Rylen turned around. Once again, his expression was difficult to read. It seemed to be perfectly schooled. “We have something of a problem here, I’m afraid. It’s my fault. I should have said something when it first started developing.”

Hawke’s first thought was something political, something to do with Cullen and Anders. But the way Rylen was looking at him… his mind moved immediately to lyrium. Didn’t long term use affect Templars? “You’re not sick?”

The one corner of his mouth twitched. “Well, heartsick, maybe.”

He moved away again, back to the desk where he leaned in silence. Hawke had some inkling what was coming. The pounding of his pulse was now so loud in his ears that he almost didn’t hear it when Rylen said it.

“I’m in love with you, Hawke.” He spoke to the desk. But then he seemed to find some well of courage within him, and he looked up at Hawke with a self-deprecating smile and gave a little shrug. “I’m sorry. I knew going in that this was complicated. We agreed to keep things casual. You’re going through so much… you don’t have to say it. I know you’re not in the right place now for this.”

Hawke stood paralysed. A deluge of emotions fighting for dominance within him. This man - this amazing man who wasn’t broken, who wasn’t desperate - wanted him. Loved him. Why? What did Hawke have to offer someone like him? It was a mistake. It had to be a mistake. Rylen could have anyone. Why did he want Hawke? Why did he want to bash his heart against someone who ruined everything and everyone who came close? Maybe he’d got the wrong impression. Maybe it was Varric’s book. _I never should have recommended he read it._

Rylen let out a shaky breath, looking down at the table again. “I think it’s best if we don’t see each other for a while. I’m sorry.”

_ Wait, what? _

“I need some space to get over this…” He waved a hand. “Problem.” 

Loving him was a problem? Loving him  _ was _ a problem. Rylen was intelligent enough to know that. Hawke had managed to break his heart without even knowing he  _ had _ his heart. A new record, this. 

The door slammed open and Hawke spun towards the intruder, a Winter’s Grasp spell already forming in his palm. How dare the-

Celeste stood panting in the doorway. “Knight-Captain, have you seen Raleigh?” 

Rylen straightened, at once all business. “No. Samson hasn’t reported in yet.”

Celeste ran her fingers through her hair. “Alright. Well. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“What’s going on?” Rylen crossed the room to her. 

“He wasn’t at breakfast. We agreed to meet. I looked for him in all the usual places but we must have just missed each other. He can’t have left, could he?”

“Left?” Rylen narrowed his eyes. 

Celeste glanced at Hawke. She was bright red. She must have run the length and breadth of the castle looking for the man. 

“Talk to me, Celeste.” 

“It’s nothing bad,” she said quickly. “I’m sure of it.” 

“Did he mention to you that he intended to leave?” Rylen advanced towards her. 

As he had transformed into the Templar commander, she’d transformed into the helpless mage. She backed away from him, still struggling for breath. Small as a mouse cornered by a cat. She swallowed. “He said it was personal. I told him not to go.”

_ Oh, shit. _


	29. Left behind

Cullen’s office was a hub of activity. Men came in and out all the doors, seemingly at the same time. Celeste hung back, watching as Rylen had his men searched every part of Skyhold. And as they reported back that there was no sign of Samson, Celeste’s stomach started to ache. Had she done the wrong thing coming to the Knight-Captain?

Of course she had. 

But she was desperate and  _ angry _ .

_ How could he do this?  _

She kept hoping that it was all a mistake, that Raleigh would be escorted back to the office from some nook where he’d fallen asleep or something and Rylen would give him a stern talking to and that would be that. 

It became increasingly clear that that wouldn’t be the case. By now he should have at least heard that people were looking for him. How long had he been gone? How  _ far  _ had he gone?

“He didn’t say anything about where he might go?” Hawke asked quietly next to her. She jumped at the sound of his voice. She’d forgotten he was still there. 

His eyes were circled by dark rings and he looked positively gaunt. If the stories of what had happened the night before were to be believed, she knew why. She felt a strange kinship with the Champion in that moment, even though she knew he probably hated her after he’d discovered her in the laboratory. 

“He asked if I’d go with him. Naturally, I refused. I should have asked for more details. Why would he do this? Why now?” 

“Self-sabotage.” 

Hawke provided the answer with such authority that Celeste turned her full attention to him. Had Hawke known Raleigh better in Kirkwall than he’d let on? 

Hawke shrugged under her gaze. “He was happy, here with you and the kid. He had to find some way to ruin it before someone else did.”

“Has he done this before?” she asked. Maybe there was another woman, someone he’d never told her about. Maybe he’d gone to make things right with her. It was ridiculous how Celeste tasted bitter jealousy at the very thought of it. 

“Not that I know of.” Hawke’s eyes rested on Rylen, who had a map out and was jabbing his finger at it while some of the men gathered around the desk. Maybe Hawke wasn’t talking about Samson after all. 

“I’m sorry about Anders,” she said, taking a risk, hoping Hawke didn’t bring up the experiments, didn’t accuse her of corrupting him. 

“That didn’t take long. I suppose all of Skyhold knows now?”

“You know how it is. People haven’t had anything juicy to discuss since Solana…” She trailed off, realising that wasn’t a good subject either. 

“Juicy, is it?”

This wasn’t going well. She decided to cut her losses. “Sorry.” 

“Alright,” Rylen said, louder than he had been speaking so that everyone in the room could hear. “You have your orders. Squadron A, get down to the stables now. You leave in ten. Squadron B-” 

“You’re conducting a manhunt?” Celeste interrupted, sudden fear driving the words from her mouth. 

Rylen narrowed his eyes at her. “I suppose you have another suggestion?”

She looked at the men gathered. Cullen’s men. Cullen’s men just like the two who had tried to murder Raleigh before. If they found him, was there any chance they’d bring him back alive? 

“No,” she said to Rylen. “I want to go with them.”

His shoulders relaxed a little. “I realise you wish to help, but it’s best you stay here. You can let us know if he tries to contact you.”

“I’m useful. I’m a powerful mage.” 

“This is hardly about your skills. You’re too close to this. Stay here with your boy. I promise I will let you know when we find him.” 

She wanted to say more, to argue more, but Rylen turned his attention to his men and dismissed them. 

“Is there anything I can do?” Hawke asked Rylen as the soldiers emptied out of the office. 

Rylen shook his head. “Don’t you have your own mission to prepare for?” 

Something passed between the two of them. Hawke’s hands fisted and unfisted, but he didn’t say anything. Rylen turned away and busied himself with some paperwork. 

As if taking a cue, Hawke turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. 

“You should go find Ren,” Rylen said softly now that they were alone. “No doubt he will have noticed us looking for Samson. No doubt he’s quite frightened by all of this.”

Ren... How could she possibly tell him? 

 

***

 

When Celeste didn’t find Ren playing with the other children near the stables, her pulse started to race. She knew she was being unreasonable. Raleigh would definitely not take Ren with him. Still, memories of that day in the rain would not leave her, and of the way Ren looked at Raleigh. 

Raleigh would not take him, but he might follow. 

She searched Skyhold with increasing urgency, chest growing tighter and tighter with every room she visited that was absent of her son. 

After completing a search of all the usual places, she crossed the market to check the barn once more. Something bounced off her ankle. She thought nothing of it until something else hit her leg a little higher up, and then her thigh. She looked down to find a scattering of small stones. 

Someone had been throwing them at her. But from where? In the press of the market she could make out little. Then her eyes landed on a small figure up on the battlements, black against the bright blue sky. It waved to her. 

_ Ren? _

She gathered her skirts and hurried across the bailey to the stairs to the ramparts. 

At first she didn’t see anyone, then Ren jumped off one of the merlons, startling her. 

“Sorry to scare you,” he said, in the voice of a boy much older. He had a grave look on his face. “I needed to talk to you alone.”

The look on his face showed a maturity she hadn’t seen from him before. She was caught between wanting to shake him and hug him. “What’s happened?” 

He passed her a folded parchment. The only sign that he was unsettled was his shaking hand. As soon as she took the note, he stuck the offending hand into his pocket. 

“Who gave this to you?” she asked. 

“You’ll understand if you read it.” 

She unfolded the note. 

 

_ Dear Celeste, _

_ First I want to say I’m sorry. I know you’re probably angry with me now. Maker, I don’t blame you. Second, please know this is not about you at all or anything you did or said. This is about something that happened a long time ago, and I never had the chance to put right.  _

_ I don’t want you to think me ungrateful or that you weren’t enough. You were more than I ever deserved to hope for. If I don’t come back, give Rutherford this note and he’ll be able to find me. Tell him… tell him paper bird. _

_ Yours always,  _

_ Raleigh Samson _

 

She turned the paper over to check if there was more, even though she knew there wasn’t. “Ren, when did he give this to you?” 

Ren took a step back. “Uh…”

“When?”   
  
She doubted he had ever heard her so angry, but now she could no more control her anger than she’d been able to control her magic as a child. 

Ren’s bottom lip pouted but he pulled it straight, jutting out his chin. “Last night.”  
  
“And you waited until now to give it to me?” 

He shrank from her. “He asked me to. He said I must give it to you this morning. After breakfast.”

She sank down onto the steps, holding her head in her hands. “What else did he say?”

“He said that he was going away for a while but he will come back, although they might put him in the dungeon. He said he had to do something important. But he is coming back, Mom. He promised.” Poor Ren’s voice was shaking. 

“It was wrong of him to give you the note. He should have spoken to me directly.”

“He said you wouldn’t have let him go.” 

That was very true. She was shaking with rage. She wrapped her arms around herself to hold herself steady. “Self sabotage,” she muttered. Hawke was right. It was the only thing that made sense. Hawke! She stood up so fast that Ren stumbled backwards. 

Hawke might know what the note meant. 

Celeste was only vaguely aware of Ren following her along the ramparts to the door that lead into the tavern. She marched down the stairs, knowing without a doubt where she’d find Hawke. 

He did not disappoint. She slammed the letter down in front of him on the bar. He turned to her with eyebrows raised. 

“Tell me what it means?” 

He lifted the letter, still watching her. 

“Hey,” Cabot said. “No children in the tavern.” 

Ren was standing at her skirts. She placed what she hoped was a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It was still early and the tavern was all but empty. “We’ll be leaving in a minute.” 

“Rules is rules,” Cabot insisted. 

“Hawke?” Celeste pleaded. He was still scanning the page. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t help. I don’t know what he’s talking about.” 

Hawke pushed the page back to her. 

“No children,” Cabot repeated. 

“Give me a minute!” Celeste snapped. 

When she looked down at Ren, she saw his eyes were glassy. His face was screwed up, his chin still jutting out. He was fighting those tears back with everything in him. Her anger melted away and she sank to her knees beside him, drawing him into her arms. “Hey, it’s alright. I’m sorry I shouted.” 

“It’s not alright,” he said in a tear-soaked voice. “Ser Samson’s in trouble, isn’t he?”

She pulled away enough to look him in the eye. “Well, it’s like that night with the wolves.” She brushed aside some hair that fell into his face. His nose was already red. “You didn’t mean to do anything wrong. You thought you were doing a good thing. A brave thing. You didn’t realise the danger. It’s kind of like that. I need to find him before the wolves get him.” 

“If I’d given you the note last night, he wouldn’t be in danger.” The last word came out on a sob. 

“It’s not your fault, Ren.” She pulled him into another hug. “It’s his fault, not yours.”

Hawke stared down at them from his perch on the stool. “Alright, I have  _ an _ idea. It might not be a good idea. But we best not talk here.” 

 

They didn’t talk on the way to the Grove either. It was even prettier now than it had been when Celeste had last visited it a month ago. The flowers were in full bloom and they twisted into one another like a bright mosaic of colour. The wind whistled through the crags above them. 

Hawke turned to Celeste and folded his arms. “Did Samson ever tell you why he was kicked out of the Templars?” 

“He was charged with corrupting a mage.”

Ren cut in. “He had a friend who was a mage and he passed love letters for him. And he was caught.”

“Exactly.” Hawke smiled at Ren, but he didn’t look happy. “And the mage was made Tranquil. Samson always blamed himself for that. When I met him, he would talk of nothing else. How he used to be a good Templar, how he might be a good Templar again if I just put in a good word for him. And eventually he let slip that part of his motivation was to make things right for Maddox. He couldn’t…. untranquil... him. But I guess he wanted to keep an eye on him, make certain he was safe. Samson must have saved him in Kirkwall that day.” Hawke swallowed and looked at his feet, turning up dirt with his shoe. “When the Inquisition hunted him down, Maddox was there. So, Samson must have somehow got him out of the Circle. I thought… I thought all the Tranquil died there. I don’t get the paper bird thing. Maybe it’s a reference to the letters.” Hawke shrugged. “But my best guess is that if he’s gone to find someone it’s Maddox… well, Maddox’s remains.”

“Remains?” Ren asked, voice pitching. “He’s dead? Did the Inquisition kill him?”

Celeste put a hand on his shoulder again. 

“No,” Hawke said. “He took poison.”

“Does Raleigh know he’s dead?” Celeste asked. 

Hawke nodded. “Cullen brought it up at his trial. He didn’t seem to react to the news then. Maybe… maybe he wasn’t capable of it.” 

That steeled Celeste’s resolve. It would have been one thing if he’d run away to do something meaningful… but simply visiting a body? Throwing away everything to pay his respects? 

She shoved down the part of her that said that was romantic and asked the only question that mattered. “Where is Maddox’s grave?”

 

* * *

 

 

Celeste stole across the dark courtyard towards the gates well before dawn, pulling her horse as quietly as possible, even though she had cast a spell that made them less noticeable. 

Ren was safely tucked up in Natalia’s care. With any luck, she’d catch up with Samson before Ren had a chance to miss her. 

She was a few paces clear of the barn when the unmistakable sound of metal drawing across metal cut through the still night.

Cassandra stepped from behind the barn. Her blade, held out in front of her, glinted in the semi-darkness. “Stop right there.”  

Celeste held up her hands innocently, even though blood roared in her ears. “Seeker Cassandra, I can explain,” she stuttered. 

“Then explain.” She advanced. “Tell me this is not what I think it is. The maleficar who is involved with General Samson sneaking away to help him. I am interested to hear what other story you come up with.” 

Cassandra looked even more severe than usual in the moonlight. 

“I… I’m not… I mean that’s not…” 

What was it about this woman that turned Celeste into a gibbering mess?

“Where are you going?” Cassandra jabbed her blade at Celeste’s chest. “Something is going on. You must all think I am blind. First the Hero leaves, then Cullen, then Samson, and now you. My letters to Ma - to the Inquisitor have gone unanswered, Leliana is more cagey than ever and Varric keeps looking at me with this  _ sparkle  _ in his eye. I am tired of the games. You will tell me.” 

“I…” Celeste searched for something to say. Where did Trevelyan come into it? Did he? Or was that just another coincidence? 

“Either you are part of this plot, or you a criminal fleeing to assist your lover as I warned Knight-Captain Rylen you would. Which is it?” 

She made it sound so terrible. She was fleeing to assist Raleigh, but only to protect him from Cullen’s men and bring the blighted fool back. In magical bindings if necessary. But Cassandra wouldn’t understand. It  _ did _ sound bad. She and Raleigh could make quite the evil duo if they willed it. She swallowed.

“I don’t know where the Inquisitor is, but I know that Leliana sent Cullen and Solana on a mission together to help them repair their marriage.” Cassandra’s mouth formed an ‘o’. Sensing a possible escape, Celeste forged on. “You know that Solana is my closest friend. Leliana hasn’t heard from her since they left. So she’s sending me as reassurance.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “And Samson?” 

“I don’t know where he went. I’m as worried as you. I’m the one who reported him missing. Maybe he is involved. ” 

“And Leliana trusts you?” 

“She trusts that I care about Solana. Given the nature of the mission, is that not enough?”

Cassandra pressed her lips together. “Tell me what else you know about this mission?” 

Celeste wanted desperately just to tell the truth. It was easier than coming up with a lie. But Cassandra was the one person who could not find out. She’d send the entire army after Anders. She’d likely start the very war Solana and Cullen had been sent to avoid. 

“It's something to do with the Grey Wardens,” she said instead. Not a lie. 

_ Too vague.  _ Cassandra scowled again. 

“Do you know who Blondie is? Varric referred to a Blondie who he thinks is behind this.”  _ A gamble.  _

“Anders! He thinks Anders is behind this?”

_ So I was right then.  _ Varric had really been talking about Anders. 

Cassandra turned around, scratching the back of her neck. “I  _ knew _ it was suspicious when he left, but they kept telling me, ‘Cassandra, it was just a couple’s tiff, Cassandra, you’re too paranoid.’ Oh, but this is terrible. Why would they keep it from me?”

Celeste offered a noncommittal shrug. “I’m sorry, I can’t answer more of your questions. I wish I could. Leliana said an agent would meet me on the road to further brief me. Perhaps you should go speak to her.” 

Celeste kept her hands still, but mentally she crossed her fingers. She waited while Cassandra paced in the small space before them. 

“Alright. I will go and talk to her about this. Come along.” 

Celeste’s heart fluttered. “What?”

Cassandra gestured to the stairs with her chin. “Come. We will go see her now. If she confirms your story, you may go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Solana stuff soon, promise!


	30. The night is long

The last time Celeste had entered Leliana’s sanctum at night, it had been quiet and dark. Now it was brightly lit, with scouts and agents working busily and the spymaster pacing in front of her altar to Andraste.

“I hope I am not disturbing you.” Cassandra had to duck as a small flock of birds came in through the window and spiralled to land on their perches and cages, squawking loudly enough to drown out all else.

When the commotion of the birds’ arrival had died down, Leliana was standing before them with her hands draped behind her back. “No word on Samson yet, I’m afraid.”

Anxiety felt like acid in Celeste’s stomach. Was this in any way salvageable?

Leliana’s keen blue eyes scanned Celeste; she could almost feel them scraping over her. They took in the riding breeches, the cloak. No doubt the pack, too.

“This is about another matter,” Cassandra said.  “May we speak alone?”

Leliana gestured to the balcony.

Celeste followed Cassandra out, concentrating on keeping her hands from fidgeting. They walked around the tower a little way, until the noise from inside faded a bit. The night was warm for Skyhold, but a cool wind battered against the keep, stinging Celeste’s skin. She scanned the surrounding roofs and trees for possible escape, but they were too high up. She was stuck.

“Celeste tells me that you sent Cullen and Solana away on a mission to work on their marriage. Is this correct?”

Leliana’s brow furrowed. “I trust this is not a problem? You agreed to lend me the Commander.”

“No. _That_ is not a problem. What is a problem is you hiding the nature of their mission from me.”

“I did not hide anything from you, Cassandra,” Leliana said with a sweet smile.

“What is their mission, in that case?” Cassandra demanded.

Leliana didn’t answer immediately and Celeste wished there was some way she could communicate what she’d said. This could spiral out of control so easily. _Don’t mention the Chantry, don’t mention the dreams._

Leliana cocked her head to the side, looking docile as a halla. “I sent them to speak to someone who had given us some trouble. With any luck that will be all that’s need-”

“Anders.” Cassandra cut her off.

The spymaster nodded.

“Anders went rogue and you didn’t think you should _tell_ me? I am standing in for the Inquisitor, Leliana. I deserve to-”

“And you’re going to be the next Divine.”

Cassandra blinked at her.

Leliana smiled again, less sweetly. “I know that as the next Divine, you could not let him live. There is no smooth political solution for this. Only a personal one.” Her expression became serious. “If Solana and Cullen fail, we may have no choice. But I’d prefer to handle this peacefully, if we can.”

Cassandra shook her head. “Why do you insist that apostate gets another chance? What he did in Kirkwall… What it inspired.”

“And what would his death inspire, Cassandra? He would be more powerful as a martyr. I’m handling this. Let me handle it. You have enough to concern yourself with.”

“You should have informed me.” Cassandra scowled. “I had every right to know about this threat. And the Grey Warden involvement… what if this is bigger than him? The last time Wardens were involved in something like this we-”

“I know. And I had every intention of reporting to you when I knew more.” Her eyes travelled to Celeste again. “Although it seems Celeste beat me to it.”

Celeste felt very small, like a child witnessing the adults talk. She stood still, willing herself to fade into the stone, to disappear.

“Yes, about that.” Cassandra’s attention moved to Celeste too. “She tells me you have sent her to check on the mission progress.”

Celeste didn’t dare breathe.

Leliana smiled that sweet smile. “She and Solana have a special bond.”

Celeste’s insides jerked. It was ambiguous. Not straight condemnation. What was the spymaster playing at?

Cassandra noticed the ambiguity too. “So you did send her after Solana? And you were going to have someone meet her on the road?”

Under any other circumstances, Celeste would have made her displeasure known at being discussed this way while she was standing right there, but now she bit down on her tongue, every muscle tensed.

Leliana smirked. “As luck would have it, the very woman I wished to send to meet her just arrived back from her last assignment. There won’t be any need for you to journey alone after all, Celeste.”

“Oh,” Celeste said. She didn’t feel relieved. She felt very much out of her depth. Both women were still looking at her, so she added, “That’s good.”

“It _is_ good,” Leliana said. “It should save you time. Speaking of… Cassandra, time really is of the essence. If you have no further queries?”

“Of course I have further queries! I wish to know everything you have discovered so far about-”

“Fine.” Leliana held up her hands in submission. “But I must send Celeste on her way first. I’ll meet you in the Inquisitor’s office as soon as I’m done here, alright?”

Cassandra’s eyes were still narrow but she nodded. “Alright.”

Celeste could tell she was reluctant to drop the subject. She threw Celeste one last look as she marched away, and it said plainly that she wasn’t yet convinced.

When Cassandra was gone, it was like a clamp had been loosed from around Celeste’s chest and she could breathe again, but the feeling was short lived. No sooner was the Seeker out of sight then Leliana turned to her. All sign of that sweet persona she’d showed Cassandra was gone.

“Speak.”

Celeste realised for the first time that Leliana had very sharp teeth. Behind those pretty lips, they glinted, bringing to mind a wolf on the prowl.

She knew better than to lie. “I was going after Samson.”

Running from a wolf only made them chase harder.

“So you haven’t had further dreams?”

The question surprised her. She’d been expecting some reaction to the confession. Was that why Leliana had protected her, because she thought she had a clue? New fear curled its way up the centre of her back, leaving a trail of cold sweat.

“No. I… I lied to the Seeker. She thought I was plotting with Samson, she thought I was going to meet with him to enact some terrible… but that’s not true. I promise, it’s not. I want to bring him home before Cullen’s men find him.”

Leliana’s look softened a bit. “And you know where he is?”

How dangerous would it be to tell Leliana what she knew?

Very dangerous.

But it was more dangerous not to.

“I have a clue. He’s gone to mourn a friend.”

Leliana snorted, turning to look out at the night. Dawn would come soon. The air had that icy taste to it now. Celeste waited.

Eventually Leliana sighed. “I can give you a day’s head start. No more. If you tell me where you’re going, I can make sure the route is clear. Of Cullen’s men, and mine. But after that, I’m afraid… he’s too dangerous. It’s too great a risk.”

“I understand,” Celeste said, hardly daring to believe that Leliana was letting her go.

“One more thing.”

Here came the catch.

“You can’t return with him. I’m sorry but it would be too incriminating. I’ll send someone to tail you. You can hand Samson over to her. She will see he’s brought back to Skyhold safely.”

_But Ren is here._ “Where would you have me go?”

“You told Cassandra you were going after Solana. Perhaps you should.”

Celeste couldn’t find anything to say. The spymaster was asking her to go to that voice, that awful voice that may or may not have been Anders. It chilled her to her core just thinking about it.

“Perhaps Hawke would join you,” Leliana suggested. “I heard he might be looking to go after Anders himself.” When Celeste still didn’t say anything, Leliana added gently, “You don’t have to leave.”

Yes, she did. “If I give Samson to your handler, you swear he’ll be safe?”

“I can promise you he’ll make it to the dungeon. What happens after that is out of my hands.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hawke answered his door bleary-eyed from either alcohol or sleep - Celeste couldn’t tell which.

“I’m going to get Samson. And then I’m going to get Anders. You coming?”

Be blinked, rubbing at his beard. “Define ‘get’.”

She slipped past him into his room. “I know where Solana is going. I can take you there. But we need to leave now.”

Hawke’s gaze moved to a half-packed bag at the foot of his bed. He stared at it, as if willing it to move.

She sighed. “I can get you something for the hangover on the way.”

“I’m not hungover, I’m thinking.”

“Think fast.”

Alise chose that moment to start crying. Perhaps their voices had disturbed her. Celeste wasn’t sure how thick the walls were here. Hawke shut his eyes.

“Hawke?”

“I’m tired of leaving,” he said softly. “I’m tired of running.” He seemed to be talking to himself more than he was talking to her. “What are you going to do to Anders when you find him?”   
  
“Depends what state he’s in.”

Hawke stumbled over to the bed. He pulled open a drawer and rummaged in it. “Shit... no pencil. No ink.” He scratched some more. “Well, can I give you a message for him?”

Celeste nodded. If he _was_ that thing that had spoken to her in her dreams, he wasn’t likely to listen, but she didn’t want to tell Hawke that.

Hawke cleared his throat, sitting down heavily on the bed. “Um. I… I guess just tell him that I forgive him. For before. With you and the…” He waved a hand. “And shit, if it’s not him… if it’s Justice and he won’t stop killing, maybe you can talk him down. Void, you talked Samson right. Maybe… thing is, I don’t know how much good I’d do if I came. I’ve been trying to talk Anders away from the brink for years and I haven’t had much success. Is it cowardice for me to stay?” He looked at Celeste with large sorrowful brown eyes.

“No,” Celeste said as gently as she could.

“It is selfish though.” Hawke dropped his head into his hands. “I should come with you. Just, give me a minute. I’m almost packed. I won’t take long.”

Celeste sat down beside him. “Do you still love him?” she asked.

He drew a very deep breath, one that moved his shoulders up and down. “That’s the question of the hour. Of the year, I suppose.”

“If the answer doesn’t come easily, I’d say it’s clear.”

“He’s my responsibility.” Hawke’s voice was softer than Alise’s crying from next door.

“No,” Celeste said. “He’s not.”

Hawke raised his head just enough to look at her. “You realise Samson isn’t your responsibility either?”

“I know. That’s not why I’m going.”

“Why then?”

“Because I…” The magnitude of what she was about to say landed on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. “Because I do love him.”

Hawke managed a bit of a smile at that. “We’d make a very good pair on the road, you know? Both of us chasing the villains we love.”

Her heart was still pounding after her confession. She should have said it to Samson, not to Garret Hawke. She inclined her head. “I suppose we would. If that’s what you want.”

He turned his face away. “I may not feel what I once did, but I still want to protect him. Cullen and Solana are two of the most lethal people I know.”

“You think they want to kill him?”  
  
“I know they want to stop him.”

“If Leliana wanted to kill him she would have sent her spies, or she would have just told Cassandra about the whole thing. She sent Solana. If there is a peaceful way, she’ll find it.”

Hawke stood, sighing again and running his hands through his hair. “You’re his friend, aren’t you? I mean, you worked together?”

Could it be called that? She’d written him letters for months begging him to come to Skyhold and lend his skills to the search for a cure for the Taint. But when he’d arrived, she’d always felt more like an assistant than a friend. It was a role she fell into easily, familiar from the Circle. The apprentice helping the enchanter. He had always been kind and courteous. He’d never snapped at her as Fiona had, or as the older mages at the Circle had. She nodded at Hawke.

He turned back to her. “If something happens to him and I’m not there, I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself.”

She rose to her feet. “If there’s a way to save him, you have my word I will try everything in my power to do so.”

***

Celeste was gone before the first light touched the horizon. She made it to Rainesfere by the next night, but didn’t stay over. She traded her horse and kept riding. _One day head start_.

She hoped Leliana’s agent could keep up.

 

* * *

 

 

The darkness crept in from all sides like in some terrible nightmare. Or perhaps night fell at normal speed, but to Solana it didn’t feel that way. She drove herself forward, fighting off the branches that caught on her cloak and in her hair, breathing so hard she sounded like she was sobbing. They had wandered through the forest for two days and three nights and had seen _nothing_ indicating a direction in which to travel.

At first she had tried to retrace her steps, remember the marks she’d made to get them back to the main route. But whether or not she was successful, they saw no further markers. They could not hear the river, they could not see the stars. An oppressive grey sky shimmered between branches occasionally but not often. And when they did see the moon - which was seldom - it was directly overhead and they could not go towards it. She’d tried to climb the trees, but had been unable to get high enough. They’d run out of rations. The pie was a distant memory, and all the other bits she’d collected from Gideon’s had been used.

They hadn’t seen game in two days. Aside from the hunger pangs, it meant that there was likely something unnatural happening in these woods. Something like mages raising an army. Or darkspawn prowling through the night. She didn’t even have the Taint to sense them.

“Solana, please slow down.” Cullen sounded as tired as she felt. She wanted to argue, but she was running on nothing but fear, and that couldn’t last all night.

“We should make camp,” he suggested. His voice was near her ear but she couldn’t see him. It was dry and cracked. Water was another thing they’d run out of.

“Alright,” she agreed. “Let’s… let’s keep going until the trees are a little less dense. We can set up a tent.”

His hand touched her arm. She wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be reassuring, or if he was just feeling his way forward in the growing dark and had accidentally found her. Whatever the reason, he said nothing.

They moved forward at a more careful pace, pushing between tree branches and climbing over roots. Solana was starting to believe the forest would never open up, that they were going to eventually find the trees too dense to pass through and they would become trapped and devoured by the forest. And then it did. She could breathe.

It wasn’t much of a clearing. She cast light through her staff and took a look around. The floor was mulchy and the trees thick as a wall around it. That was all she could see before she had to snuff out the light out because the mana was eating at her energy and casting made her feel faint.

“Are you alright?” Cullen asked, nearer than she thought he was.

“No,” she said. “But yes. Don’t worry about me. Let’s set up camp.”

They worked together gathering sticks and leaves for a campfire. It was a relief just to sit, to be without her pack. She buried her head in her hands and tried to still her rapid heartbeat, find some inner peace, but her aching stomach nagged at her.

“Solana!” Cullen hissed. She looked up to find his attention turned towards something in the woods. She followed his gaze. A halla, illuminated by a beam of moonlight, like something from a hunter’s tale.

It shone white against the darkening forest, seeming so otherworldly that she hardly believed it was there. As if sensing their gaze, it looked up at them. Docile doe eyes watched them cautiously. An ear twitched.

Solana dared not breathe. She pulled her mana into a tight ball, ready to cast a Winter’s Grasp. Perhaps the elven gods were real after all. Perhaps they’d come to her and Cullen’s aid in this wild place.

She cast.

She missed.

Her spell crashed into a nearby branch and the halla darted away through the trees.

“No!” she scrambled to her feet and took off after it.


	31. The path is dark

Cullen’s desperate voice called through the trees behind her, but Solana ignored it. All that mattered was the halla. The blessing. The salvation. The chance she’d squandered. 

She threw herself forward, jumping over tangled roots, ducking under grasping branches, falling and stumbling more than she was running.

It was just ahead of her - just in sight - just around that trunk.

Then it wasn’t. There was only darkness and the breathing of the trees. 

_ No… _

Solana felt her way blindly, lungs aching, refusing to give up even though she could no longer see it.  _ A little further. A little longer.  _ Until her shaking legs would no longer hold her weight and she sank down to the forest floor, staff limp in her hand. 

“Solana!” Somehow Cullen found her. 

She didn’t respond as he approached, as he collapsed beside her, panting. She heard him ask if she was hurt, but his voice sounded so far away. 

They were going to die out here.

He grabbed her shoulder roughly. “Solana, answer me! Are you hurt?” 

She was a ragdoll in his grasp. How many times had she faced death? How many times had she stood staring into its maw? But then her blood had pounded with purpose, her power had sang. All of that, to come to this. Dying of hunger in some unknown part of an Orlesian a forest.    
  
“It’s my fault,” she whispered. “It’s my fault I didn’t get more supplies, it’s my  _ hubris _ . We wouldn’t even  _ be _ here if not for me-”

“We’re here because of Anders,” Cullen said calmly.

“No, we’re not. We’re chasing Justice. Because I- He’s that way because of me.  _ My _ actions. And when we don’t stop him, when we fail… the Circles and war and… Alise.”

Her throat closed on the name.  Precious baby girl, alone, an orphan. No better off than Solana had been in the Circle. 

_ I should never have come here. I should never have left her.  _

_ What kind of hero dies before they even reach the fight?  _

She pushed down on Cullen’s shoulder for leverage as she struggled to her feet. “I need to find it. I can catch it with one spell. That’s all I need.” 

“Solana!” He tried to pull her down again, but she tugged her arm free and backed away from him.  

He struggled to his feet. “You don’t have the energy for this.” The forest was so dark now that she could no longer make out his features at all. He was just a slightly darker shape than everything else around them. “You won’t find that halla again now.” 

“I’ll use magic, I can light the way.” She sent energy up her staff for emphasis. The rune at the end flickered and threw warm light across Cullen’s face. But it guttered like a candle. 

“Put that out, Solana.” His eyes were manic in the odd light. “You don’t have the energy.” 

“I can. I will. I just have to-” 

He closed the distance between them in two strides and grabbed hold of the staff. He was strong, but he wasn’t as strong as he usually was. She managed to hold on. “No! I have to! Let me!” She struggled against him, she clawed at his hands. “Cullen! Let go! I need to!” 

_ We have to eat. I have to save us! I have to make this right! _

He wrenched the staff from her grip and tossed it to the ground. Before she could bend to snatch it up, he had her wrists in his hands and he pushed her backwards until the trunk of a tree hit her back.

“Cullen, you have to let me make this right. I have to make everything right. I have to-” 

“Putting yourself in danger is not going to undo anything.”

“Let me try-”

“And use up all your mana? Die of exhaustion?”

“I have a little left.” 

Cullen growled and pressed her hands above her head. “You keep trying to sacrifice yourself and for what? The Blight is over. You aren't a Grey Warden anymore. You don't have to be the Hero. I know you have regrets. Maker, we all have regrets. But I'm  _ here _ . Alise is  _ here _ . I've already watched you die once, Solana. Don't make me do it again.  Please.” 

“Cullen…” Guilt and fear and hunger and exhaustion and so much else tangled within her chest. 

Actions had consequences, Hawke had warned. And now the consequences for all of hers had arrived. And it wasn’t an epic battle - that she could have handled. It was wasting away alone with Cullen and her demons. She shivered and, despite her best efforts to blink them away, hot tears spilled from her eyes. 

Cullen dropped her wrists. And then, unexpectedly, she felt his touch against her cheek. “Solana… I’m here. We’re still alive. Not all is lost.”

A sob escaped her and she let her head fall forward onto his chest. They stood that way for some time, no sound but the whispering of the branches overhead.

And then he put his arms around her. 

She dared not move, didn’t even want to breathe. Even in his armor, she could feel his warmth. She was wrapped in him, a cocoon of safety that felt more like home than anywhere else ever had.

He’d pressed her against a tree before, on another night, in another forest.

_ Would you like to join me in my tent? _

_ Maker, yes. _

Back when they’d been careful with each other, when they’d turned towards each other instead of away. 

“Cullen, I’m so scared.” Her voice trembled. 

His lips brushed across her forehead and her insides jolted at the intimacy of the contact.  “I’m here.” he repeated. 

His hand found her chin in the darkness, and he tilted it up as if coaxing her to look into his face, although surely he knew she could see nothing of it. “I’m with you.” 

His lips met hers. 

In the darkness she saw colours. She saw the golden light of that day in the chantry when they’d said their vows, the orange of the fire when he’d held her while she’d confessed her darkest secrets. The purple of the dawn across the Approach when they’d stayed up all night playing chess. The blackberry juice on his fingertips. 

He pulled away, too soon. She waited for his stammered apology, like when he’d kissed her at Skyhold under false pretenses, but no apology came. 

“Tell me you want this.” His voice was low and heated, a spell held in the palm, passion barely contained. 

_ Want it _ ? Pressed between this tree and his body, her entire being yearned for him. Her lips tingled, craving another kiss. She traced her fingertips up from his neck, along his jaw and his prickly cheeks, feeling the shape of the face she could not see. She found his mouth with the pads of her thumbs. Even by feel he was beautiful. Now he was holding his breath. She brought her lips to his.  

Her aim was a little off. She caught his upper lip, where his scar was, and their noses bumped.  

He made a low throaty sound. His hands locked around her upper arms and then his lips were on hers again, a deep, hungry kiss that stole her breath and yet… it felt like the moment that pillow had been removed from her face. Precious air. Precious life. 

Cullen. Her husband. She wrapped her arms around him and the forest, their mission, everything else melted away. There was nothing but the taste of his lips, the solid, familiar feel of him. His hands tangled through her hair and hot blood pulsed through her. She felt formless, and yet intensely aware of every part of her and how much it ached for him.

Heat built at her centre. He ran his hands down her body, coming to rest on her hips.  _ Lift my robes.  _ They’d been apart for months, but the thought of being apart a moment longer was unbearable. 

Instead, Cullen drew away. The space between them was probably no more than a few inches, but it felt gigantic. Her stomach plummeted at the sense of loss.

“You realise this is incredibly reckless,” he said. He was short of breath as she was. “Mages, Wardens, Darkspawn, who knows what else lurks in the shadows around us.”

He was right. “And we should conserve our energy.”

The unmistakable sound of his buckles cut through the silence. 

He was undressing. 

Maker, she had never heard a more welcome sound. She closed the agonising space between them and felt for the straps that kept his chestplate in place. 

“Commander Cullen being reckless?”

He  _ laughed _ , and she changed her mind about the most welcome sound. 

He shrugged off his surcoat and she helped him lift the chestplate over his head. The rest of his armour took far too long to come off. He moved away from her again as he fought with leather ties. Her own clothing was done away with swiftly, but his took an age. She heard each piece hit the ground and counted them off in her mind. Vambraces, pauldrons, gorget, doublet, shirt, belt, boots. Had it always taken him this long to undress? 

_ No more waiting. _ She found him in the dark, practically crashing into his warm body, which was closer than she’d thought. He wrapped his arms around her, engulfing her in heat, and he made an appreciative noise at her state of undress. He was still partly clothed, but his chest and arms were bare and they smelled like  _ him _ . Oh, how she’d missed this. She dragged her lips across his collarbone and kissed a path his neck. Cullen moaned softly, a sound she hadn’t heard in far too long. His hands brushed down her ribs, but he paused at her hips. 

“Say you are still my wife?” 

The question surprised her, but she answered it without hesitation. “I’m still your wife. I’m your wife as long as you’ll have me. I love you, Cullen. I never stopped. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I never wanted-” 

He tugged her into a kiss again, hands firm on her hips and lips pressing against hers so hard it hurt her mouth. He walked her backwards, back towards the tree trunk, but before she felt it hit her back, the ground beneath her feet gave in. 

She stumbled, clinging to Cullen as she tried to find purchase, but there was no longer any ground to stand on. His hands dug into her hips as he tried to help, but the forest floor must have given away beneath him too. They tumbled through the black darkness, landing hard enough to knock the breath from Solana’s lungs. They kept rolling, falling, flying downwards. Cullen hugged her to his chest, shielding her head against his shoulder as stones and roots slapped against them and the ground hit them over and over again. 

Finally, she landed with a jolt, gasping for air, stunned, with Cullen’s weight on top of her. 

He scrambled off her as he came to his senses. “Are you hurt?” 

Laughter bubbled up from her chest, a mixture of relief and shock. A ridiculous joke came to her, but she dared not say it. 

“You’re going to make a comment about me sweeping you off your feet, aren’t you?” Cullen guessed.

“No.” But it was close. “I was going to say when you implied we should go for a tumble, I didn’t realise that’s what you meant.” 

He laughed breathlessly, nuzzling into her hair and finding her ear, which he nipped playfully. “So long as you’re not injured.”

She knew there would be bruises in the morning, but for now she was relieved they hadn’t fallen into some spiked trap or onto hard stone. The ground beneath them was soft and… damp? 

She reached out with a hand. It landed in mulch. She felt around in a wide circle. All damp. “Cullen, I think… I think there might be water nearby.” 

“Water?” He reached out to feel it too. “That’s good,” he said in a measured voice, but he didn’t move from her. 

They should probably try to explore. Her throat was parched, and it was dangerous to be here without any supplies or way of defending themselves.

“It is good,” she repeated. 

There was a pause before Cullen replied, lips so close to hers that his words vibrated against her mouth. “It’s probably better to explore in the morning. We don’t know the lay of the land here. For all we know, we might be on the edge of a cliff.” 

“That’s true,” she agreed. “We’ll have to be careful we don’t move too much.” 

She heard the smile in his voice as he agreed. “Yes. We might have to stay like this all night.”

 

* * *

  
A wall of sound hit Celeste as she entered the tavern. It stank of ale and sweat. Good to know that for all the Orlesian flouncing, an inn was an inn.

She found the innkeeper behind the bar, telling a story to a drunkard. He raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at her when she approached. “If you’re looking for a room, we’re full up.” 

“Actually, I’m looking for a man.” She described Raleigh to him and he started to smirk before she was done. 

“This your husband?” 

“No.”

“Lover then.” He chuckled. “You seem to know all the little details of this man’s face…”

“Have you seen him?” She was too tired for diplomacy. 

“Afraid not.” The man shrugged.

“Hey, I saw that man you just described,” the drunkard offered. The innkeeper glared at him. “What? He was here earlier. I remember the hairline particularly. Ugly brute. You could do better, you know?” 

Celeste turned her attention back to the innkeeper. Now she raised her eyebrow. 

“Alright, alright. He was here. But he has left. I’m not in the business of helping estranged wives track down their husbands.”

The drunk belched. “Not unless they can make it worth your while, I’m sure.”

If he was here earlier, she didn’t have time to haggle. “I’ll catch him on the road. Thank you.” 

She turned from the bar, ready to head out again, when a movement on the stairs at the other side of the room caught her eye. Or rather, a sudden halt in movement. Someone had been coming down the stairs and had stopped abruptly. 

Her eyes met Raleigh’s.

And then he ran. 

He jumped the last few steps, and pushed between people, scrambling to get to the door. Celeste struggled through the crowds packed around the bar, elbowed and ducked and weaved, reaching the door just in time to see his retreating back as he ran into the night. 

If he thought it would be that easy to get away from her, he had another thing coming.

She raised her staff. Damn the consequences. All mages were apostates now anyway. 

At her bidding, the air around him became thick as honey. She walked towards him as he struggled comically to escape. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t outrun her now. 

She only cancelled the spell once she stood in front of him. 

He gasped, doubled over. When he looked up at her, his face was pale. Had her power really shocked him so much? “What are you doing practicing magic like that? Out in the open?” 

_ That  _ was his concern? There was a woop and a laugh from the doorway. She glanced back to find a small crowd gathered. They didn’t seem too worried about the magic. “I’ve been chasing you for three days.” 

“I told you to stay at Skyhold. I didn’t want you involved in this.” 

“To the Void with that!” Her anger burned cold. 

“Didn’t Ren give you the note?” 

She advanced on him. “Oh yes, my  _ son _ gave me the note where you explained that you were  _ abandoning _ us.” 

Another woop from the doorway. Raleigh looked at their audience, then back to her. “I thought I made my reasons clear.”

She slapped him. Four days of pent up rage, egged on by her exhaustion and the watching crowd. The sound of her hand hitting his face rang into the night. The audience cheered. 

He stared at her, his dark eyes pools of hurt and confusion, a red mark across his cheek. She regretted her actions instantly. Hadn’t she trained for years to control herself? 

Yes, she had. That’s why she’d slapped him instead of setting his breeches on fire.

“How dare you make him deliver that letter,” she hissed. “How dare you make him feel like he was a part of this.” She gestured to Raleigh but she meant his crazy endeavour. “If you want to self-destruct, that’s your business, but you don’t take my son down with you.” 

“I…” His mouth moved but he seemed unable to form any other words. Good. She waited. She felt the crowd waiting too, leaning in to try hear their exchange. “I’m sorry.” He looked at his feet. “I didn’t mean to hurt Ren. That’s the last thing I’d wish.”

“No, it’s not.” She shook her head vehemently. “If it was you wouldn’t have left. You weren’t thinking about Ren, you weren’t thinking about me. You weren’t thinking about Rylen or Cullen or any of the people who’ve helped you and had faith in you. I should have just let the soldiers find you.”

“Yeah, you should have.” 

At least he had the decency to be contrite. She sighed, the steam leaving her. “I take it you have a room?” 

“What?” 

She rubbed her eyes. “Here, at the inn. You were coming down the stairs, so I assume you have a room?” 

He looked to the onlookers again. She could tell he didn’t fancy the idea of going back in there. “Yeah, I have a room,” he admitted. 

“Good. I need some sleep.” The last time she’d slept had been on the boat over from Ferelden. “We can talk privately in there.” 

“I…alright.” 

She half expected him to take off again as soon as her back was turned, but he followed her back into the inn - through the laughing, jeering, applauding crowd - and up the stairs. His door was locked and his hands shook when he turned the key.

When they were finally alone in the tiny room, silence hung between them. 

“You can take the bed if you like,” he said eventually. It was a narrow lumpy thing, definitely not enough room for two. 

She nodded. “Although you’re going to run the second I shut my eyes, aren’t you?” 

“What? No. No, I won’t. You have my word.” 

She set down her pack and removed her cloak. “Here’s what’s going to happen.” It was easier to tell him while she wasn’t looking at him. “In the morning I am going to hand you over to one of Leliana’s spies. She’ll make sure you get back to Skyhold in one piece.” 

“No.” 

She turned back to him. “ _ Yes. _ ”

He shook his head. “No. I didn’t come this far for nothing.”

“Yes, you did. You came all this way for a _ dead man _ !” She hadn’t meant to raise her voice, especially since she was sure that the inn’s patrons were still trying to listen. 

“What do you know of it?” he accused her. Confirmation, then. Hawke was right.

“I knew where to find you, didn’t I?” 

He paced across the room, scratching his head. “You don’t understand.”

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“I’m not going with some spy-”

“Raleigh, if Cullen’s men find you first…”

“They’ll what? Give me a lecture? I may as well take my cha-”

“They’ll kill you.” At his startled look she added, “Maybe. You haven’t thought this through. You think those men who attacked you that night were the only ones with a vendetta against you? Raleigh, you’re being pursued by the very men you fought to  _ kill _ less than a year ago.”

He appeared to consider this. Then he sighed. “They’re disciplined men. It’s more likely they’ll-” 

“I’m not willing to take that chance.” She moved towards him and was a little relieved that he didn’t flinch away. “I made a special agreement with Leliana that you wouldn’t be hurt. Please, Raleigh. You said you cared about me. If you still do-” 

“‘Course I still do.” 

“If you still care about me, then please just…”  Now that the anger had ebbed, her chest ached once more. She was struggling to contain her emotions, and the lack of sleep didn’t help. “Please, just let me hand you over.”    
  
“You should get some rest,” he said softly. “I’ll still be here when you wake. Promise.”


	32. The dawn will come

Solana rested her head on Cullen’s chest, listening to the sound of the wind in the trees overhead. The night was humid, warm enough that they could lie like this, just being together. He had an arm around her and his heartbeat had calmed to a steady rhythm. She breathed him in. 

“I’m your wife,” she repeated, keeping her voice soft in case he’d fallen asleep. She was exhausted too. By rights she should be asleep, but her heart had not stilled. It raced with elation and fear and excitement. All of it, all at once. She’d never imagined he might give her another chance. She’d started be believe he didn’t even  _ like  _ her. Yet, when they’d made love, he’d clutched her like a lifeline. 

But that might have been no more than blind passion. She needed to know.

“And I am your husband,” he said. His thumb began stroking small circles at the base of her spine. 

“Still, after everything?” She flinched at her own words. What they had between them now felt delicate and precious, and she risked shattering it.  

That Cullen didn’t answer spoke volumes and she regretted the question. She cuddled closer to him, seeking comfort from the very person whose response she feared. 

“I  _ am _ happy you're cured,” he said, as if she had asked a completely different question. “You and Alise. I only wish... I'm certain there was another way. I can't erase that image of you, as the abomination, from my mind.”

Once again there was silence interrupted only by the shifting branches. She searched for something to say, something that would be adequate. 

He swallowed and she pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth to stop herself from speaking. He did that when he wanted to say something difficult and he couldn’t find the words. She wanted to hear him more than she wanted to offer excuses he already knew. 

“In the Circle,” he said eventually. “When it fell. I would... fantasise about you. I mean, a life with you. Not… Maker, why is this so difficult? It was how I kept myself sane. The mages- Well, you saw the sorts of things they’d do. They found a way to take those dreams and turn them into… ghastly nightmares. Images in my mind that would play for hours. And one of them…” He breathed in and she heard his heart rate start speeding up again. 

“One of them was me as an abomination,” she guessed. 

She wasn’t sure but she thought he nodded. “Several, in fact.” His voice was thick. “There were variations. Sometimes we had a family first and I’d come home and… all of you. And sometimes it would happen at a… well a moment like this.”

“And then it happened for real.”

“Yes.” 

She ached, not only in her empty stomach and bruised elbows, but in her chest and her hands too. She’d made his very worst nightmare come to pass. “You were never meant to see that.”

He said nothing, but she thought she felt him stiffen. His hand stopped tracing its symbols on her back. Wrong thing to say. 

She fumbled for words. “I know I shouldn't have left you like that. But that night, watching you sleep... I just wanted to make everything better and I knew that I could. When you mentioned Morrigan, I realised-”

“So much could have gone wrong. And almost did.”

“I know.” 

“A  _ demon _ , Solana?”

“I know. It was a calculated risk.” 

“ _ How _ calculated?” His voice was loud and hard again, as it had been for most of the journey. She’d broken the moment. She didn’t know how to answer. 

At her silence, he continued. “You don't even know, do you? You fully accepted that you might die."

She sat up, uncomfortable being so close to him but still nervous of moving too far when they couldn’t even see the ground around them. “I was  _ willing _ to give my life for her.”

She felt more than saw him sitting too. “You're willing to give your life for everything. The archdemon, Corypheus, a red templar test subject, a duel with a man you know wants you dead... does the list have an end?” 

“It’s not like that,” she shot back at him. “I... I only wish to help when I’m able.”

“And your definition of  _ able _ is just that much broader than the average person’s?”

She didn’t know whether he was being sarcastic. It was difficult to judge without being able to see his face. “I don’t know, maybe?”

“ What is it going to take for you to realise that you're more valuable alive than dead?” 

His words knocked the air out of her. She stared at the dark shape she knew to be her husband. 

His breath tickled her skin as he leaned in close to her. “You may not feel your life has worth, but I do. Loving you… sometimes… sometimes it’s like loving the sun. You burn so bright, you’re so powerful, so capable, so beautiful. But I cannot hold you close, I cannot keep you with me. All I can do is follow you and hope to bask in your light.” 

“That’s not true,” she whispered, but she knew that he must have spent some time thinking of the analogy. It wasn’t the sort of thing that simply came to a person in the moment. And she thought that she understood maybe a little of why it annoyed him when she reminded him she was the Hero. Maybe he wasn’t trying to control her, or envious of her ability, or concerned that she was a powerful mage. Maybe it frightened him because it meant she was putting her duty, her desire to help, before her regard for her own life, or the life they were supposed to be building together. She could bring up how he’d gone to the Wilds, how he, too, was here now on this particular quest. But she knew that would only create a greater gulf between them. It wasn’t the same. Even if her gut response was to go on the defensive, she had to acknowledge that him leading an army, dressed in layers of leather and metal, was not the same as what she’d done with that demon, or with the darkspawn, or even with Nathaniel. 

She couldn’t explain the reason to him, she couldn’t begin to understand it herself. All she knew was the  _ drive _ . To be  _ useful _ , to make a difference, to seize the destiny that justified everything; her escape from the Circle before it fell, her being safely atop that tower when the other Grey Wardens were betrayed, Alistair’s death… 

And the things she’d done too. 

She was the Hero. Marrying Cullen, carrying Alise, having friends and family… that wasn’t her life. It was a dream in which she’d felt afloat, lost, without identity. She knew who she was. She  _ was _ the drive. 

And perhaps if she had understood this sooner, she would have been cleverer about it. She wouldn’t have taken Cullen into her tent that night and she wouldn’t be a mother and a wife. 

“I don’t know how,” she whispered aloud. “I don’t know how to be something else.” 

He kissed her again and all she could think as his lips moved against hers was how selfish it was of her to want both. To want him and Alise and to be the Hero. Heroes didn’t have families. Wives didn’t have duels in town squares. Mothers didn’t run across the continent on adventures. 

Was she fated to forever be half a person?

 

* * *

 

 

“Tell me about this deal you made with the spymistress, then?” 

Celeste jerked awake. Raleigh was sitting at the foot of the bed. Weak morning light highlighted his shape. His elbows were on his knees, his head in his hands. 

“I told you.” Her voice was sleep-addled. “Her agent will make sure you get to-”

“What was the price?” 

She rubbed sleep from her eyes. “Price?” 

“Yeah, what did this deal cost you?” Each word was enunciated and they dripped with what sounded like barely-contained rage. “What did you pay for my safety?” 

Her first instinct was to deny there was such a price, but perhaps it was good that he understood. Perhaps it would make him more willing to comply. 

“I can’t go back to Skyhold,” she said. What light came through the window wasn’t strong enough yet to properly light his features, but she felt his eyes on her. The intensity made her heart beat faster. She cleared her throat. “I lied to Cassandra about my reason for leaving. I said I was going to find Solana. She thought you and I had some evil plot and I’d be meeting you somewhere. Blood magic and the like. Leliana went along with my story on condition I, well, make it true I suppose. Returning with you would be too suspicious, so I’m going to find Solana and Cullen and help them.” 

He made a strangled sound and ducked his head again. “You shouldn’t have come after me. I fully accept the consequences of my actions. My actions  _ should _ have consequences. Maker, the things I’ve done... I deserve everything that’s coming and more. You shouldn’t have gotten in the middle of that, in the way of it.”

“Is that what this is about? Punishing yourself?” 

He didn’t answer. 

Sounds of the rest of the inn coming awake drifted up to the room. Outside, horses and a woman talking to chickens as she fed them. 

“It’s not just about punishment,” Raleigh said eventually. “Maddox died for me, when I was the one who ruined his life. He was made Tranquil for corrupting _ me _ . It shouldn’t have ended that way.” 

She shifted closer to him. “Visiting his body isn’t going to change any of that.” 

“No.” He reached inside his shirt and withdrew something. He held it out to her. 

A paper bird. Or the likeness of one. It was a page of smooth paper - the expensive type that Josephine liked to use - and it had been folded so that two triangles stuck out as wings, and a third was bent to resemble a beak. 

“I’ve been dreaming of him. For weeks now. But then one morning I woke up and this… this was by my bed. Maddox used to fold these in the Circle. Before they… well, before they made him Tranquil. He’d include one with every bundle of letters I delivered.”

She took it from him. It was well worn from being carried in Raleigh’s pocket, frayed around the folds. 

“Open it,” he prompted. 

She unfolded it carefully. A short message was scrawled on the inside. 

_ I wait for you at the Temple of Silence. _

“Who sent this?” 

He shrugged. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” 

“I wanted to. I nearly did. But what would I say? That I was receiving letters from a dead man? I know how demented that sounds.”

“Oh, and this all sounds far less demented now?” She swung her legs off the bed. “You don’t know who sent the letter, you don’t know what they want, you’re going there alone. What if it’s one of Corypheus’s minions looking to start up a new campaign against the Inquisition? Or, more likely, someone who wants you dead? How could you even think about-”

“If someone wanted me dead, they coulda killed me when they delivered the note in the middle of the night, couldn’t they?”

She didn’t have an answer. Her blood raced. 

He let out a trembling breath. “I’m sorry you got involved. I didn’t want that. And Ren… shit.” He scrubbed his face. “If it is something against the Inquisition then this is the best way to find out about it, right? Besides… I need to go there. I need to see it all for myself.”

A thought occurred to her, and it was so ridiculous that she hesitated to say anything. Still… “Raleigh, you  _ do _ believe that Maddox is dead?”

She studied his face, trying to work out what was going on in his mind. He didn’t say anything at first, then muttered, “Yeah, I know that.” 

The note  _ was _ concerning. It was clearly from someone who knew Raleigh well enough to know his deepest regret, someone who went to great effort to draw him out here. She chewed on her bottom lip. “What if I come with you to the shrine?”

His head snapped to look at her again. 

“If I come with to the shrine, will you let me hand you over?” 

“It’s too dangerous. Whoever sent that letter might… and you yourself said Cullen’s men were looking for me. I don’t want them hurting you.” 

“Maleficar, remember?” She called fire to her palm, just a flicker of flame to remind him that she wasn’t helpless. He looked horrified.  “Well, I don’t _ intend _ to use blood magic. But, whoever wants you is going to have to deal with me too.”

His gaze dropped to his lap. “I should be keeping _ you _ safe.”

“Do we have a deal?” She kept her voice bright and it seemed to work. He offered a hint of a smile and nodded. 

“Yeah, alright.” 

 

* * *

 

With the sun came awareness of the bruising. Cullen stifled a groan as he opened his eyes. Red hair. A face full of it.

Despite his sore muscles, the relentless aching of his withdrawal, the hunger in his belly and the newly acquired bruises from the tumble the night before, Cullen smiled. 

Solana was asleep in the crook of his arm, her naked body curled up beside his. Images of their night together replayed in his mind. Him following her crashing through the branches, her vulnerability, his desire to protect and comfort overwhelming his fear. And then the kiss, and the feel of her skin. And her warmth. He had feared that she would never show him that warmth again, and yet she'd opened to him as she had that very first night. He didn't want to leave that warmth but...

He shifted the arm experimentally. It prickled at the movement, numb from lying beneath her head all night. Slowly, carefully, he managed to extract it. The only sign that she noticed was a slight change in her breathing. He waited until it returned to normal, then sat. 

They were not on the edge of a cliff. That was a relief. Around them there was only mulchy land and the mud that Solana had identified the night before. That would require further investigation. But not now. A more urgent matter had to be seen to first. 

Luckily the bank they’d rolled down wasn’t too steep in the light. Cullen found his scattered armour easily enough. He pulled on his breeches and retrieved his shirt, but the rest would have to wait. The pack first. Where was the… pack.

The pack was up against the trunk of a tree. The tree that he’d pressed Solana against. And judging by the leaves and earth covering it, he’d managed to stand on it. 

No. 

He dropped to his knees and shook out the contents.  _ No no no!  _ He could tell the instant he saw the small leather bundle. A dark patch had spread from one of the corners. But he unrolled it anyway, hands shaking. Smashed. The very last lyrium vial had been shattered. 

“Cullen?” 

He shoved the bundle back into the pack and tried to control his panic. She’d see it if he looked at her. She’d see his expression. He had to  _ control  _ it.  He turned to her, trying to force a smile. 

She stood at the edge of the slope. Her hair was a mess of leaves and twigs and she had dirt on her face. She was wearing nothing but his surcoat. 

“It suits you,” he said. It did. With the shade of red and the fur collar, she looked like some ancient queen of nature, regal and wild. 

She brushed her hair behind her ears self-consciously, and picked out a dried leaf. “It’s the river, Cullen. The source, maybe.”

He rose to his feet. “You’re certain?” 

Solana nodded. “I think so. It’s nothing but a stream up here but we can follow it back down to the village. We can drink and we can fish and we can bathe... We’re going to be all right.” She laughed suddenly. "We're going to be all right." And her laughter was like music.

They were at least two days away from the village, if they travelled through the night. 

Without lyrium, he didn’t know if he _ would _ be all right. 

But at least she would. 

 


	33. Forgiven

The sound of metal on metal rang through the courtyard, even though the early morning mist was yet to clear. It swirled around Hawke’s ankles, dampening his resolve. Maybe it wasn’t time for this yet?

And anyway, Rylen didn’t even seem to be here.

“You looking for the Knight-Captain?” a nearby lieutenant asked.

_Oh, wonderful._ Apparently the entire army knew what had happened between them. Hawke inclined his head.

“He’s up by the armory.”

“My thanks.”

But Rylen wasn’t in the armory. Hawke even checked upstairs. An omen, then. He’d speak to him some other time. He exited the door nearest the stairs and stopped. Straight ahead of him, Rylen was standing with a little boy. Celeste’s kid. Hawke didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to disturb them and Rylen hadn’t noticed him yet. He could just back away. But his legs seemed to move of their own volition, drawing him forward into the shade of a tree where he could hear their exchange without being seen.

“Alright, let’s try that again. Front guard.”

Ren held the wooden sword diagonally in front of his face and made towards one of the training dummies, but Rylen halted him, and corrected the posture so that the sword was vertical.

“Sorry, ser.”

“What’s with you today, lad?”

Ren stared at his feet and mumbled something.

Rylen stooped to bring himself eye level with him. “What was that?”

This time, Hawke could hear Ren when he asked, “Is my mother ever coming back?”

“‘Course she is. Why wouldn’t she? You’re here.”

“The others say she ran away with Ser Samson. And he won’t be able to come back here, will he? So she’s going to have to be on the run with him.”

A sound came from Rylen’s throat that was almost like a growl. “Well, that is not the case. On either point. I have people out looking for Samson, and they will bring him back. So don’t you worry about that.”

“And your mum’s not with Samson, she’s with the Hero of Ferelden,” Hawke cut in.

The boy turned to him with his mouth hanging open. His sword dropped to the ground.

Rylen straightened. A small line appeared between his eyebrows. “Hawke. You’re still here.”

Hawke scratched the back of his neck. He hadn’t left his room days other than to pinch food from the kitchens. It was no wonder Rylen thought he’d gone after Anders. “Yes. I, uh… Can we talk? When you’re done here, of course.”

Rylen nodded, but his expression revealed nothing of his feelings. Hawke’s chest tightened. He turned his attention back to the kid.

“Ren, I saw your mother before she left. She hasn’t abandoned you to run off with Samson or whatever they’re saying. That’s ridiculous. She’s gone on an important mission.”

The little boy stared at Hawke, eyes almost perfectly round. “But…” His gaze moved quickly to Rylen then back again. He dropped his voice. “But the paper bird.”

Ren did not have a promising future as a spy, but the attempt was adorable. Rylen’s eyebrows shot up.

Hawke laughed nervously. “I have no idea what you mean, Ren.”

“Let’s have that talk, Hawke,” Rylen gestured to the requisition office with his head. “Ren, carry on practising your guards. Straight sword please.”

Morris willingly vacated the room at Rylen’s request. The quartermaster stammered an apology, and made a small bow before turning tail.

“Nervous fellow,” Hawke commented, watching the door close behind him.

“Paper bird?” Rylen cut to the point.

Hawke sighed. “Alright, so, Samson left a note with Ren about why he left. It was mostly rambling and didn’t make much sense. Celeste was trying to figure it out before Leliana made her leave.”

“And you know about this note, how?”

This was not the conversation he’d wanted to have with Rylen. He felt uncomfortable in his own skin. This felt almost as bad as being brought before the arishok.

“Celeste knows I used to know Samson, back in the day. She thought it might make sense to me.” He left it there, hoping Rylen didn’t press him for more. He didn’t want to give Celeste up, but he didn’t want to lie to Rylen either.

“You should have told me about the note.”

“I would have, only, well I was... sort of avoiding you.”

Again, Rylen’s expression revealed nothing.

“Maybe I should go.” This had all gone to shit anyway. He reached for the door handle, but Rylen snagged his arm. Warmth shot through Hawke at the point of contact, like a powerful jolt of magic.

“No,” Rylen said in a low, soft voice. “No, please. What was it you wanted to talk about?”

_Alright… here goes nothing._

“Celeste came to my room the night she left. She told me she was going… well, she was joining Solana, so she was going to Anders. She asked me to join her.”

“I see.” But the puzzled look on Rylen’s face said otherwise.

Hawke licked his lips, finding they suddenly lacked moisture. “I said no. Well, obviously I did because here I am.”

“I see,” Rylen said again.  

Why was this so difficult? “I, uh… I realised that if I left, if I went after Anders this time, it would ruin all chances of, well… well, you wouldn’t… what I mean is…” He closed his eyes. He was making a hash of this.

“Hawke,” Rylen’s voice was still low, and it sounded like music. “I understood from the start how you felt about Anders. You are not responsible for my feelings. I told you. If this was about sparing me…”

“No.” His mouth was so _dry_ and his heart was beating so hard it ached. “It was. Is. Look… I’m not used to being happy. I can’t remember the last time I was truly happy.”

“You don’t have to do this Hawke. I told you I understand. You don’t owe me any explanation.”

“Wait. What I’m saying is. What I’m saying… These past weeks, with you, they’ve reminded me what happiness is. Maker, that sounds... I just... I’ve spent three days thinking about this so it’s not a spur of the moment thing. I just wanted you to know that if you... That is to say if you saw it in you to give me...” Who was this talking out of his mouth? Where was the smooth talker with the quips? Hawke swallowed. “I was careless with your heart before. I won’t be this time. If you can see fit to give me another chance. Maybe not now. Maybe in the future some time. I promise-”

Rylen closed the space between them, seized Hawke’s face in his hands and kissed him. Hawke floundered, caught by surprise, so that the kiss ended before he’d even fully realised it had begun. When Rylen pulled away, he was staring at Hawke, looking just as startled as he was. “Sorry, you were saying something.”

Hawke shook his head and pressed his lips to Rylen’s.  
  


* * *

 

 

Celeste would have expected a Tevinter shrine to be a thing of beauty. She didn’t know that much about ancient architecture, but she expected it to be opulent like everything else from Tevinter. The Shrine of Dumat was not that. 

It was rugged and square, a disruption to the natural beauty that surrounded it. Grey stone and red clay made up the outer wall, lined with triangular merlons that were pierced with arrow slits. A gate so rusted that it had turned black hung half open at the entrance. 

Raleigh paused there. He gritted his teeth. His jaw worked. A hand hovered at his belt. Then he strode forward and pushed it open.

There was no one in the courtyard beyond. It smelled of smoke and rot. Broken barricades and crates littered the ground, but above them rose the shrine proper and, for all the dereliction surrounding it, it was a thing to behold. An array of connected pillars - each capped with a tiny glinting pyramid - echoed the triangular shape of the merlons, rising up to a point far above them. 

A tattered Red Templar flag hung over the entrance, and Raleigh moved towards it as if in a trance. 

Celeste trotted after him. “So are the triangles a Tevinter thing, or significant to Dumat specifically?” she asked, to break the silence. 

They had hardly spoken in hours. Raleigh was acting like this was the very last place he wanted to be, rather than the result of so much sacrifice. 

Her question warranted a curious look. “Blighted if I know.” 

He started up the staircase to the entrance, and she fell into step with him, looking around. There had been a battle here, but it hadn’t destroyed everything. The tattered remains of a tent stood off to one side, slowly rotting away, and two beds of what must have been ancient plants lined the stairs. She admired the bright flowers pushing up between the roots of the diminutive trees that surrounded a small pile of stones. Embrium, crystal grace and some prophet’s laurel. Beautiful. And so out of place somewhere like this. They gave the bed a sense of misplaced whimsey.  

Misplaced… she realised just what she was looking at. 

Raleigh grunted as she grabbed his arm and pointed down at the stones. At first he didn’t see it either. Then she heard the intake of breath. He pulled himself free of her, hopped over the balustrade and fell to his knees beside the stones. 

His brow creased as he examined the stone at the very top. There was a word scratched into it, but Celeste couldn’t make it out from where she was standing. 

“Is it Maddox?”

“No.” Raleigh clawed at the ground. “It’s not Maddox, it’s ash!” He lifted a handful of dirt into the air and let it trickle through his fingers. “The fucking bastards.” 

The Inquisition must have performed Fereldan funeral rights. That was good, wasn’t it? She wasn’t sure what Raleigh had been expecting to find. Had he really thought Maddox might have written the note? 

“I think it’s pretty,” she ventured. 

“What?” His head snapped around to look at her. 

“The flowers. I think it was nice of them to plant them. It’s a good place to rest, don’t you think?” 

His look softened and he turned back to the stones. Silently, he arranged them again. When he was done, he muttered, “We should check inside. Whoever sent the note’s probably there.”

 

Inside the shrine, the destruction was more evident. The ceiling had partly caved in, the tiled floor was scattered with rubble. But there was still no sign of anyone else.

Celeste could tell that this part of the shrine had once been pretty. The hall was dotted with great serpent-stone pillars, decorated with twisting patterns reminiscent of snakes or dragons. The heraldry of the Red Templars was draped over long stained glass windows that let in the afternoon sun. Raleigh didn’t pay the surroundings any mind. He made straight for a door at the far end of the room. 

The only comment he made as they passed through the chamber beyond was, “The lyrium’s gone, Inquisition must have cleaned it up.” 

He picked up speed as they reached the other side of that room, marching with purpose towards a set of heavy double doors. But when he reached them, he paused. “This was where it....” He pressed a hand to the wood of the door. “This was where he would have died. Through here. I’d wager that whoever’s waiting for me will be waiting there.”   
  


* * *

 

  
If Cullen were to sit and think about how to describe that day travelling along the river with Solana, back towards the village, he would have found words inadequate. They feasted on fish that she caught with her magic, and bathed together in the sunshine. They laughed a great deal and touched hands as they walked. A pressure had been lifted now the unspoken things had been said.

Well, most of them.

But her bright smile kept the worst of his concerns at bay.

They stopped for a break at midday and they sat side-by-side on the bank while they ate. Solana rested her head on his shoulder, watching the silver flashes of fish darting through the water. She chuckled.

“Care to share?”

“Oh, I was just thinking about Leliana. We’ll never hear the end of this, you realise?”

He snorted. “I suppose there’s some comfort in that. The spymaster is supposed to be good at this sort of thing.”

“Matchmaking?”

“I was thinking more playing puppet mast-” He stopped mid word, sensing something behind him. He spun around, almost tripping in his rush to get to his feet while reaching for his sword.

There was no one there.

“What’s wrong?” Solana asked.

He shook his head. _Paranoia. Lyrium withdrawal._

With a sigh, he sat down again. “I thought I heard.... It must have been a bird or-”

Something slammed into the side of his head and everything went black.  
  


***

Green and blue flickered across Cullen’s vision. His face was hot and his body was being jostled. He stifled a groan as his memory came back to him. He’d been knocked unconscious. He forced his eyes open fully and was able to make out the green to be the forest canopy overhead. Where was Solana? Had they taken her too?

Turning his head to the right, he saw the brown flank of a horse. The the left, the leg of his kidnapper. Grey Warden armour.

He briefly considered trying to attack the rider, but experimental shifting revealed his hands to be bound. The best thing to do was to stay very still and pretend to be unconscious. Maybe he could gain the element of surprise when they reached their destination.

He watched the Grey Warden leg. Occasionally, when the ground was more uneven, Cullen caught sight of the way ahead. At first it was just forest and more forest. And then, something grey poked out between the branches. As they drew nearer, it became apparent that they were approaching some kind of ruins. They passed giant archways, half consumed by vines, and the remnants of walls. He was expecting them to come to a halt when he saw the first small building that was mostly intact, but they kept riding. He wasn’t at all prepared for the fort.

Although it probably dated back to the first Blight, this was no ramshackle remnant. It was a massive structure of stone and iron, with a barbican and at least three levels. While he was fixated on the building, another horse pulled in beside his. This rider wore mage robes and Solana was draped over the back of the horse, bound in a similar fashion to him. Her mouth hung open. She was out cold. His heart slammed. What had they done to her?

His Warden dismounted, but Cullen was only concerned with Solana. The mage climbed down from his horse and then he swung Solana over his shoulder.

The Warden may well have tried the same, but as he leaned close to Cullen, Cullen flung his head up, catching the Warden on his chin. While he was distracted, Cullen struggled against his bonds. He needed to get free. He had to get to Solana.  But someone shouted something on the other side of the horse and Cullen heard a crack of ice an instant before pain ripped through him and he was frozen solid, staring up at the Warden’s face through foggy ice.The Warden smiled, and then everything went dark again.

 


	34. Cast into darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, there are some references here to the Samson short story by Bioware, Paper and Steel :)

Samson moved stiffly. For weeks, getting here had been all he could think of, but now he wanted to be anywhere else.

This room was empty, as the others had been.

Once it had glittered with red crystal, but now it was dull and dark. What light trickled in from the doorway behind them was only able to give the vaguest of shapes to the room beyond. Without comment, Celeste sent a fireball at the nearest sconce.

He’d expected coming back to be more fulfilling. He’d expected it to be sad, yes. But not so _empty_. It was all just shadows and ash now.

Celeste lit the other sconces and time seemed to slow down. He was very aware of her, of how she much she must despise him now. He could still feel the sting of her hand against his cheek. Why was she here? Why had she come after him?

Finally, light bloomed over Maddox’s workbench. Most of the equipment was gone - the Inquisition must have taken it. What was left was just a mess of scattered papers and other rubbish. There was nothing of _him_ here. All that remained was outside in the blighted flowerbed, like some family animal buried to appease the children.

There was no peace in seeing the stack of stones that marked his grave, or in being here, in his space.

_I've thrown away everything for nothing after all._

“Should I look around, see if they’ve left any other messages for you?” Celeste asked. Her voice bounced off the tiles as she moved further into the room.

“No!” He snagged her by the elbow, but dropped it immediately. She didn’t like being touched at the best of times, and she certainly wouldn’t want to be now. Why shouldn’t she rifle through Maddox's things anyway? It wasn’t like the Inquisition hadn’t already.

“It, uh, might be dangerous,” he offered.

She folded her arms.

“There’s probably lyrium all over the place.”

There probably wasn’t. The Inquisition had likely cleaned it all out with the crystals, but maybe she didn’t realise that.

What was he even doing here? “This is pointless, you were right. There’s nothing here.”

“It’s not nothing,” she whispered.

“Look at this place, Celeste. Inquisition cleaned it out. And there’s no one here. It’s clear now what happened. There was never going to be anyone here. They just wanted me to leave Skyhold. Just wanted me to incriminate myself.”

It had been his secret fear all along.

“I don’t think that’s the reason you came here, Raleigh.”

Every time she said his first name it made his stomach jerk. Used to be that was a pleasant feeling. Now it was laced with guilt, like everything else. “What did I come here for, then?”

“I don’t know.” She looked around. “Maybe… maybe because you had to run during the battle, you just needed to see how everything turned out? Maybe that was necessary so you could move on from this point. This place must have been important to you.”

“It was,” he acknowledged. Did he tell her it was once his seat of power? Did he confess the things he commanded from here? The memories rushed at him, like her suggestion had lifted some portcullis in his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut against them. _Sahrnia… the Graves… Haven…_

Haven, where he’d almost had her killed.

“It shouldn’t be important to me!” he snapped, voice louder than he’d intended. He wasn’t shouting at her, he was shouting at the memories, beating them back. “It should disgust me, revolt me. What I was here… what I became.”

He marched over to Maddox’s desk and swept off everything the Inquisition had left behind. “And I brought him into it, made him a part of it. He followed me blindly. He-”

Something heavy crashed off the table. It had been buried under parchment and dust, and it landed with a metallic _clang_ that echoed across the room and through Samson’s head. _What in the Void was that?_

He knelt down to examine it and his heart skipped.

It was his sword. His sword from before. The one that Corypheus had given him when he’d offered him the title of General. The one that Orlesian git had shattered.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered, staring at it, not daring to touch it.

Celeste sank to her knees beside him. “Looks like a sword.”

“Yeah. It is a sword. Kirkwall steel. I had a sword like it once.” He reached forward for it, fingers brushing away the papers that had covered the hilt. Not the same sword. This one had a decorative hilt where his had been plain as a Chantry mother. “Heh. For a moment I thought…” He looked up at Celeste. “I had a sword when all this began. Corypheus gave it to me in Kirkwall. I don’t think it was anything special, but the night I broke it I asked Maddox to fix it. Which he did. It was ready for me by the next morning. And right after that, when we reached Therinfal, Corypheus gave me another sword… He gave me the sword of my enemy. The sword that drove Meredith mad. I think the Inquisitor has it now.”

Samson lifted this new sword. The grip fit perfectly into his hand. It was heavy and well-balanced, finely crafted. Or was it re-crafted? Is this what the note had been about? Had someone left this here for him? If so, why?

He examined the crossguard. It appeared to be made of knotted iron, reminiscent of the Kirkwall crest. The pommel was smooth but for the very top where the symbol of the Red Templars had been stamped into the metal and surrounded with what looked like coloured glass.

 _No._ His stomach lurched. _Not glass. Lyrium. Red Lyrium._ How had the Inquisition missed this? They must have dismissed it as an ordinary greatsword. Or it really had been left by one of Corypheus’s surviving underlings. Someone from Tevinter perhaps. _Oh, Maker, not that._ Celeste was powerful, but even a maleficar from Ferelden had nothing on _those_ mages.

He looked around again, listening carefully for any sound that would indicate they were no longer alone. There was nothing.  

“He must have made it for you,” Celeste said, leaning to look at the sword over his shoulder.

“That’s impossible.” He was Tranquil. “Isn’t it?” Tranquil weren’t sentimental.

“Kirkwall and the Red Templars, who else could it be for?”

The more he looked, the more detail he saw that indicated the creator to be Maddox. There was a pattern of birds carefully etched around the grip. When he moved the hilt, it shimmered red. Red folded in silver. A technique that Maddox had developed himself. There was lyrium in this sword. And only Samson seemed immune to the effect of touching the stuff.

“Look.” Celeste pointed to the blade. In the flickering light, Samson could just make out an engraving.

“What is the price of your heart and soul? The right...” There was the beginning of another letter, but the engraving had never been finished. The final touch. An ache started in Samson’s stomach and grew as it traveled up to his throat. A sound ripped from his mouth. He felt like he was breaking in two.

“Raleigh?” Celeste’s hand on his shoulder. “Raleigh, what does it mean?”

_The smell of blood and lyrium, a darkened camp, a shattered sword. His men becoming monsters, his men needing to hear encouraging words. He’d thought them up on the spot._

_It takes fire and an anvil to forge a sword. Isn’t it worth the sacrifice? What’s the price of your heart and soul? The right to be your own? A red storm will rise._

There was no question now that the sword had been made by Maddox and meant for him. Maddox had been standing beside him that night. He must have committed what Samson had said to memory. He must have planned this gift for months. Every part of the sword had been crafted specially for him. Why did it hurt so much? What was _wrong_ with him?

Celeste wrapped her arms around him, drew him to her chest. He was shivering and his face was wet.

Maker’s blood, was he _crying_?

“Shhh…” Celeste stroked his hair away from his face. “I’ve got you, it’s all right.”

“I’m not a blasted child,” he said, but his voice was betrayed him, broken as he was, and he didn’t fight her. In fact, he clung to her, holding tightly to the arms she had wrapped around him. An anchor while the storm raged inside him.

He mourned Maddox, the bright young mage whose life he’d ruined, while wrapped in the arms of another bright young mage, another friend, another who cared for him despite all he’d done, who supported him without question. He would corrupt her, ruin her, as he had Maddox. He should push her away. Instead, he pulled her closer.

He’d never been good at doing what was right.

 

* * *

 

  
The stench of mold and a blinding headache greeted Cullen as he came back to wakefulness.

_The Grey Wardens…_

“Solana!”

“Cullen!” The sound of feet, rustle of cloth, rattle of chains.

He forced his eyes open. He was in a dim cell - bigger than the Inquisition’s, but claustrophobic nonetheless. Solana knelt at his side, but she was fuzzy, like something in the Fade.

Her cool hand pressed against his forehead. “How are you feeling?”

He tried to sit, but his head spun so he lay back on the ground and turned to get a better look at the cell. This place was old. Lichen pushed between the stone, ghoul’s beard dangled overhead. A light burned beyond a set of rusted bars and he could hear low voices from the other side, but couldn’t see anyone.

“They cursed me...” He closed his eyes again. Her touch was welcome comfort, a counterpoint to the pain in his temples.

“I thought as much. You’ve been asleep for... a long time.”

He peered at her. Even the dim light felt too harsh. “How long?”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re awake now.”  
  
“Solana, how long?”

She frowned. She kept drifting in and out of focus. “It’s difficult to say, you’ve missed two meals.”

Two meals? Unless the Wardens were particularly generous hosts, that meant he’d missed two days. He tried to sit again, fighting back the dizziness that gripped him. His empty stomach lurched.

The way he was feeling had nothing to do with whatever spell had kept him unconscious. He was in the throes of withdrawal. Madness was chasing at his heels; he had to run but there was nowhere to go.

Solana pressed against his chest, easing him down. “It’s alright, save your strength.”

It was not alright, but he bit his tongue. “Are _you_ alright? Have they hurt you?”

“I’m fine.”

But by her definition that could mean anything. “Have they made any demands?”

She shook her head.   

“Perhaps now that I am conscious, Anders will grant us an audience?”

And maybe Cullen could appeal to him for lyrium?

 _No_ , what was he thinking? He was a prisoner. How could he consider revealing his weakness like that? That’s not how he’d been trained. He was already losing his mind. His head _hurt_ . He clutched it in his hands, willing the pounding to stop, to let him _think_. “I shouldn’t have let us get caught, I should have-”

“Cullen, this isn’t your fault.”

“I failed to pay _attention_. I was distracted.”

“You _did_ sense something. More than I did at any rate. Please calm down.”

She was right. Panicking wouldn’t do any good. _Think._

If they were taken from the cell then they’d have a chance to fight. If the Wardens came close enough, Solana could best them. He had no doubt.

“We should demand an audience, demand to see him.”

“Cullen…”

He dropped his voice. “If we can arrange to be released from the cell, we can regain the upper hand. A coordinated attack. You could use magic to distract them, I-”

“Cullen.” Solana halted him with a hand on his.

Maker, why did she always have to _argue_? He drew breath to express his annoyance, as she guided his hand up to her chest. Where he expected to feel the warmth of her flesh beneath her robes, he touched something cool and hard.

_What?_

She tugged the neckline of her robes down a little. Metal glinted in the weak light. A thick band against her soft skin. It was a wide choker, wrapping around her neck from her breast bone to her throat. He recognised it immediately - a lyrium-infused choker. She moved her hair aside to reveal the heavy lock holding it in place. A regular Qunari-grade magic suppression device.

He knew its type well. He had seen them used by the Qunari in Kirkwall and he had even managed to purchase one himself, had taken it to Meredith as a possible “final resort”. Kinder than Tranquility, he’d said. It had sat between them on her desk while they’d discussed the fate of mages.

And now it was his wife who was collared.

Was it the Maker’s sense of humour to torture him this way? He could do nothing but stare at her.

Eventually she offered that small smile of hers. “I’m afraid I won’t be much use in a fight.”

“Does it hurt?”

 _‘Will it hurt them?’ he’d asked the trader._ _  
_ _‘Does it matter? You want to keep people safe, don’t you?’_

“Only if I misbehave,” her mouth quirked.

 _‘And you control them like this?’ Cullen had waved the rod experimentally._ _  
_ _‘Yeah,’ the trader had said. ‘We call it the lead.’_

A lead and collar. Like she was a dog. She squeezed his hand. “Perhaps we should wait for now. You don’t look well. You should rest. Have something to eat.”

Solana reached beside her and lifted a clay bowl to his lips. He drank the watery gruel hungrily, but as soon as it hit his stomach his insides spasmed. Saliva drenched his mouth and he knew he was going to be sick. He pushed Solana away, lurched towards the pail in the corner of the cell - but his stiff muscles wouldn’t take him that far and he crashed to his knees, retching, just clear of the spot where he’d been lying.

The roaring in his ears and the sound of his stomach emptying drowned out Solana completely. When the heaving finally abated, he was aware of her hand on his back, her worried, pale face.

“I’m sorry,” he managed.

She pulled away and he thought he had disgusted her. He was on his hands and knees, staring at his own sick. His arms began to shake with the effort of holding him up and he rolled over sideways, onto his back, before he could fall face-first into the contents of his stomach.

“Hello! My husband’s ill! He needs a healer. Can you hear me?”

Solana was at the bars, shouting towards the light. She continued to yell. He willed himself back to sleep. When he’d been asleep he’d been unaware of the pain. It curled around his arms and legs like icy tentacles. They squeezed and his stomach heaved again. This wasn’t like before. This was so much worse than before. So much worse that he wanted to believe the Wardens really had done something to him, but he knew the truth. He’d been taking too much. He’d upped his daily dose and even the half dose he’d been taking before he ran out was above what he’d been on as a Templar.  

He was beyond elfroot, beyond what a healer might do. The only thing that could save him now was lyrium.

“Solana!”

She returned to his side. She mopped at his face with her sleeve and lifted his head into her lap. It was just like before, with the overdose. Her presence surrounding him like a cocoon of love and warmth. “Shh, it’s going to be alright,” she soothed.

He wanted to believe her, he wanted to believe that there was a way he could get through this without telling her the truth. She stroked his hair and bent to kiss his forehead, whispering reassurances.

They stayed like that for a long while, but the nausea didn’t pass, the pain didn’t ebb. By the time the Grey Wardens brought the next meal, he was a shivering wreck, drenched in sweat.

Solana sprang to the bars. “My husband is ill. Please, you have to give me something to help him. Elfroot, water. He’s burning up.”

If the Wardens said anything, Cullen didn’t hear their response. She shouted after them again, but when no reply came, she returned to him and pressed her hand against his brow. He could hear from her ragged breathing that she was frightened. She was watching him deteriorate and didn’t understand why. He had to tell her. He had no choice. After the fever came the madness. While he still had his sanity, he owed it to her to tell her the truth.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried to be strong. For you. For her.”

“Cullen, shhh, it’s okay.” She pulled him into her lap again, wrapped him in her arms, pressed kisses to his aching temple.

He didn’t deserve this sympathy. He’d done this to himself. Emotion welled in his chest, more painful and powerful than his resolve. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“This isn’t your fault.”

“It is, Solana. It… I have to tell you. Have to… confess.”

She went very quiet.

“Confess?” she asked eventually and the confusion in her voice was enough to make him want to sound a retreat. Could she not guess? Were his symptoms not obvious?

His stomach clenched again, even though it was empty and there was nothing for it to expel. He whimpered despite himself. He wanted to curl up and drink in her love, her reassurance. She’d turn away when she knew. She’d be angry, disappointed.

_Say it, stop being such a coward._

He pushed the word out from between his teeth. It took all the strength left in him to say.

“Lyrium.”

One word that would change everything.


	35. Surviving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read: This chapter is rated M for violence. 
> 
> I tried to make sure all the hairy content for the entire story was in one chapter so more sensitive readers can skip it if need be. I've summarised everything that happens in the End Notes in as clinical a way as possible, so you can continue onto the next chapter without missing any info. 
> 
> Trigger warnings for abuse, sexual assault, mention of rape and general blood and gore.

_ Lyrium. _

The word sent ice shooting through Solana’s core. She wanted to believe she’d misheard, but looking down at her husband’s agonised face, she knew she hadn’t. 

He’d been taking lyrium again. 

How long? Surely he hadn’t been taking it while they’d been travelling? She’d been with him the entire time!

Although…

_ “We should go through our packs, compare supplies, discard anything we don’t need,” she suggested.  _ _   
_ _ Cullen jerked. “That won’t be necessary. We should take what we can carry.”  _

 

_ “How big a village?” he asked. _ _   
_ _ “Not more than a settlement.” _

_ No, we should press forward.” _

 

_ “No, I don’t need a healer. It’s the heat. Would you mind if I take the purse?” _

_ When he’d given the purse back to Solana, she’d found it considerably lighter. _

 

And then lost in the forest for days, he’d certainly taken none. A memory came back of that morning she’d discovered the river’s source, when she’d found him bent over their pack. The look on his face… it made sense now. He’d been taking lyrium the whole time and she hadn’t known, and he hadn’t felt he could tell her. 

Wordlessly, she shifted his head from her lap and stood. She strode to the bars with purpose. 

“We need help! We need lyrium,” she called to the Wardens. “The mages must have lyrium. Just one potion, please.” 

A little way down the corridor, a pair of Wardens sat at a table playing a game of diamondback. 

She rattled the bars. “He’s a Templar. He needs lyrium or he’ll die. Please!”

They didn’t so much as glance in her direction. 

“I can see you there, I know you hear me! Look at me!” 

Still, no response. 

She threw herself against the bars, so that her collar hit the metal and clanged incredibly loudly. It reverberated inside her head, bounced off the ceiling and the opposite wall, but she did it again and again and again and she knew she must look like a crazed mabari throwing itself against its cage. 

“Shut up!”

Pain slammed into her throat, like being punched by a golem. She flew backwards as thousands of needles stabbed through her skin. She heard herself yelp but she could see nothing but white, could feel nothing but searing agony, could not move, could not think. Could not breathe. Her limbs spasmed, her teeth knocked together. 

And then the pain was gone. She was curled up on the floor of the cell, near the bars, heaving in air, and a Grey Warden was staring down at her. 

She moved experimentally. It didn’t hurt, but her muscles were slow to respond. They felt weak. 

The Warden was middle-aged and weather-beaten. He glared down at her, passing the baton that controlled her collar from hand to hand. “What in the Void’s wrong with you?” 

“Please, we need lyrium,” she gasped.

He grunted and turned away again. He started walking back along the corridor but Solana shimmied up to the bars on her knees. “Please. Please, I’ll do anything.” 

He paused. 

It had worked in Loghain’s prison, it might work here. 

“Anything,” she repeated to the Warden’s back. 

She rose slowly to her feet, ignoring the bitter bile that rose in her throat. She kept her eyes locked on the Warden as her fingers found the top button of her robes. He turned slowly as she unfastened the second button. 

“Just one vial of lyrium potion and I will do anything you want.” 

“Solana…” Cullen whimpered. She wished he’d look away. 

The Warden’s eyes raked over her. He moved closer, but not close enough that she might try something. He had a wiry frame and his skin was tanned, with frown lines gouged into his forehead. He had a smattering of uneven stubble and small narrowed eyes. 

“Corbin!” He called. 

Another, younger, Warden appeared at the end of the corridor. 

“Open the cell.”

“Sir?” 

“Do as I say. Open the cell, take hold of the Templar. Make sure he can’t interrupt.” 

“Interrupt?” The Warden looked between him and Solana, then settled on her chest where she knew he could see the tops of her breasts. 

“The lyrium first,” she said.

The older Warden shook his head. “You take me for a fool? I know who you are. You fulfill your end, then we’ll see about that lyrium.” 

“Do you even have lyrium?” He definitely wasn’t a mage. 

He smirked. “If you prefer, we can go away again?” 

She looked to Cullen, lying flat with his chest rising and falling so rapidly. He was pallid, sweat-slick and his eyes, which stared at her now in horror, were wide and glassy. She didn’t know when he’d last taken lyrium, but it was clear that this withdrawal was killing him. In the space of a few hours she’d seen him deteriorate so fast she didn’t know how much longer he could last. Mage lyrium wouldn’t be enough to set him right, but it could buy him some time. 

She swallowed. “What do you want?” 

Cullen gasped. “Solana, no!” She tried to ignore him. 

“On your knees,” the Warden said. “We’ll start with that. Then maybe Corbin would like a go.”

The younger Warden fidgeted with the key. “You sure this is alright?”

His companion snorted. “All right? They’re our prisoners. Orders said watch them, nothing more. You don’t want to be able to tell folks you’ve been with the Hero of Ferelden?” 

He smiled at that, a sick smile, and Solana knew she’d be getting no help from this Corbin. She sank to her knees as he unlocked the cell. Her heart was pounding painfully, but she tried not to show her discomfort.  _ Be a good mage, be a pliant mage. Do as you’re told.  _

Cullen thrashed as Corbin grabbed him and hauled him up by his underarms. “No, Solana, no!” But he was too weak to put up much of a fight. Corbin moved backwards until he was against the other wall, holding Cullen upright against his chest with one arm. A dagger glinted in his other hand. 

He was going to make him watch. 

_ It doesn't matter, as long as he lives.  _

When she’d escaped Loghain, this had been the point where she’d attacked the guard. She’d frozen him solid. But now she had no access to her magic, now she had to make peace with the fact that this wasn’t some clever trick. She’d have to go through with it. 

A sick churning in her stomach told her she couldn’t possibly. But the rest of her stayed perfectly still. It was just a body, just a physical act. What did it matter if it saved Cullen? 

The Warden came to stand before her. He kept hold of her lead with his right hand, and he fumbled to open his breeches with his left. 

“You see, Corbin, what becomes of a mage without their powers. Not so fearsome now, eh?”

Her heart was loud in her ears but not quite loud enough to drown out Cullen’s whimpering. Corbin told him to keep quiet, but he didn’t. 

_ It doesn't matter if it means he lives.  _

“There, now, be a good mage. If you’re a very good mage I’ll bring you the lyrium you seek. Oh, I know exactly where I can find some,” the Warden crooned. He touched the back of her head. 

It took everything in Solana not to turn away in disgust.  _ Just a physical act. Just a body. Do what needs to be done.  _

She fastened her eyes on his, because she didn’t want to look at what was dangling in front of her face. “If you know where it is, why won’t you help him?”

The Warden smiled down at her. “I much prefer this idea of yours. He’s lucky to have such a dedicated wife. Now, open wide.”

His left hand moved to his front, to hold himself for her. But as it passed his waist she saw something she hadn’t noticed before. There was a dagger attached to his belt. 

It didn’t matter. Cullen was being threatened by a similar dagger. If she moved, he’d get hurt. 

She opened her mouth obediently. Cullen howled and there were sounds of a scuffle behind her. The clink of metal against stone. She prayed it was the dagger as she made a split second decision. She slammed her head forward so that it hit the Warden in the groin. He screamed. Before he had a chance to use the control rod, she hooked her hands behind his ankles and pulled. He crashed to the ground. His head cracked against the stone and the lead skittered from his grip. 

She climbed on top of him and pulled the dagger from his belt. 

Corbin shouted some combination of, “No, what are you doing? Stop!” 

But she was too quick. The Warden stared up at her, dazed from the impact of his head on the ground. 

“You’re no Grey Warden,” she said. And she sliced his throat. 

Blood. Bright scarlet blood. Blood soaking her hands and his armour as he gasped up at her. It bubbled in his mouth and she stared. She’d done that. 

It wasn’t the first time she’d killed, but it was the first time it had been so bloody. The only other time she’d been this close, she’d watched the life drain from her victim’s face, it had been Jowan. This man had the same brown eyes. She gagged.

“No!” Corbin yelled. 

Solana turned in time to see a sword swiping down at her head. She darted aside, thrust up with the dagger as he reached her. The first stab glanced off chainmail, but she knew Grey Warden armour well enough that the second did not miss. It slipped between the plate on his hips and the hauberk at his centre, landing just above his groin. He screamed as she broke skin and swiped for her head again with the sword. He threw himself off balance and she tackled him. 

Mounted on top of him, she tried to stab down. He grabbed her wrist and twisted. She was so focused on keeping hold of the dagger that she didn’t notice his other hand closing around her lead. Electricity shot through her, at least three times as potent as Chain Lightning. The dagger fell from her grip as her teeth slammed together. She tried to keep control of herself this time, but she froze up. The pain was relentless and all-consuming. It went on and on, wave after wave of fresh agony crashed through her, screams ripped from her throat and she could smell burning flesh and she couldn’t breathe. Her neck felt like it was on fire and the muscles throughout her body went into spasm, individually convulsing, overloaded. 

Something metal moved in the corner of her vision and then it smacked into Corbin’s face. The pail. Cullen’s boot slammed down on Corbin’s wrist and he dropped the lead. Blessed relief. Solana folded forward, choking on air as she struggled to get it into her lungs. Cullen had the dagger. It flashed as he drove it down into Corbin’s neck. 

Blood fountained from the wound but her view was blocked by Cullen, who collapsed onto his knees beside her, who drew her into his arms. He was panting and trembling and small sounds came from his throat that she’d never heard before, that made it sound like he was weeping. She wrapped her arms around him, smearing blood across his back. 

“We need to get you out of here,” she said. “Can you walk?” 

He pulled away and tried to straighten, but he yelped and clutched his side. His muscles seemed as uncooperative as hers had been moments before. “With assistance, perhaps.” 

He passed her the rod and she tucked it into his belt. She was shaky on her feet as she rose, but she tried not to let on as she wrapped his arm around her shoulders. 

 

* * *

 

Samson stared at the sleeping form beside him, quiet and still in his old bed. He had cried himself to sleep like a child, and had woken up to  _ this _ . Her blonde hair looked like a silver stream in the moonlight, her skin like delicate Orlesian china. The bed that they shared still smelled of smoke. He remembered her guiding him to it and holding him until the last of his energy left him. Now he felt empty and his face hurt, but he dared not sleep again. 

Someone had called him here, and while it was likely that it was simply to trick him into leaving Skyhold, it was just as likely that that someone had left the sword for him to find and would still show themselves. It was his duty to keep watch. 

Celeste’s eyelids flickered as she journeyed the Fade. He dreaded her waking, now that she’d seen his core - a weak coward who made one irrational, self-defeating decision after another.

If he had been like this as a child, it was little wonder his parents had given him away. The first truly bad decision he could remember was delivering those Maker-forsaken letters, but he was sure there must have been others prior. There certainly had been many since. Like that time he’d tried to secure passage for fleeing mages and had instead ended up selling them to slavers. Or when Hawke’s brother had been captured and, instead of staying to help, he’d slunk off to find Cullen, arriving too late to be of much use. Or that time with those sailors when they’d said they’d give him coin if he’d serve them for a day. They hadn’t meant a day, they’d meant a  _ night _ and he should have _ known _ . And when it became clear what they wanted, he should have defended himself or ran, not gone through with it. But that would have required a backbone, something he’d never had. 

Here, in this place, he’d once thought himself more, but it had been an illusion, just like the illusion that he could make Celeste and Ren happy. It had taken all of a few weeks for him to betray their trust. That’s what he did, that’s who he was. 

So why would Maddox make that sword for  _ him _ ? If Tranquil were anything, they were logical, but there was no logic in this gift. Corypheus had seen to his practical needs. There was nothing this beautiful sword could do that  _ Certainty _ could not. And even if Samson were to believe a Tranquil capable of sentimentality - which was in itself a ridiculous notion - why would Maddox spend so much time and effort forging a gift for the person who’d ruined his life?

It didn’t make sense. Just as it didn’t make sense that Celeste was here after how he’d abandoned her. 

He looked down at her again and found her staring up at him. 

She lifted a pale hand and brushed his cheek, tracing down to his lips. His breath halted and every self-pitying thought flew from his mind. Her green eyes looked like shining serpentstone in the dim light.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said. Even though he didn’t know how he could have. 

“You look so sad.” Her voice was low and soft. She raised herself up, still staring into his face. “Is there anything I can do?” 

She swept his hair behind his ear and her fingers hovered at the nape of his neck. She was  _ touching  _ him.  _ Tenderly.  _ His heart thundered. He shook his head. 

Celeste rose up further. She looked so unearthly, so achingly beautiful that he wondered if he was dreaming. 

Then he knew he must be, because she pressed her lips to his. 

She pulled away quickly and his immediate instinct was to apologise, even though he knew the move had, inexplicably, been hers. “Sorry.” 

A beat passed. Celeste stared at him and he didn’t know what to do. Then she cupped his cheek again, and there was no denying it, she kissed him. Her lips were warm and very soft. She tasted like summer peaches and he dared not move, dared not breathe lest he ruin this. His mind was a scattered mess, worse than in the throes of the Red, he couldn’t grasp one coherent thought. She pulled away. 

Her nose brushed against his, he felt her breath on his cheek. “Raleigh?” A tiny voice. Timid. Lost. 

He didn’t know what he was going to say until the words exited his mouth in a thin whisper. “You don’t have to do this.” 

She couldn’t truly wish to touch him. She’d made it clear that this would never happen. There was only one reason he could think of that it was happening now. She was trying to comfort him after witnessing his pitiful display and a part of him shouted  _ take that comfort, for Maker’s sake. How long have you wanted this? How long have you wanted  _ her? _ You’re not above a pity fuck. Take what you can get while you can get it.  _

But he couldn’t make himself move.  __

Her fingers trailed through his hair again. He could hear her breathing. “I want to.”

“Why?” 

“What do you mean, _why_?” There was hurt in her voice. 

If he kissed her again, if he let himself drown in her, would that make the hurt disappear? He swallowed, but he still couldn’t move. 

“Tomorrow…” Her other hand - the one that wasn’t stroking his hair - curled into the front of his shirt. It fisted and unfisted as she fought some inner battle. “Tomorrow… this ends.” 

Yes, his mad quest ended with the dawn. They’d already agreed to that. 

“I don’t want to miss… I don’t know when we’ll next… if we’ll ever...”

_ Oh. _

Tomorrow they’d part and he’d likely be thrown into the dungeon for the rest of his days, if he was lucky. He’d accepted those consequences. He hadn’t thought… of course he hadn’t, he never did, did he? He’d made a sacrifice and hadn’t considered that he was sacrificing her future too. It was a big thought. He could almost feel it pushing out everything else in his mind.  _ Her _ future. He hadn’t ever dared consider himself a part of it and now… now it occurred to him that she might have. 

How did he fix this? How did he make this better? What in the Void was he doing here? It hadn’t even been worth it, it hadn’t answered  _ anything _ . 

“Say something, Raleigh.” 

What? What did he say? 

“Did I…” her voice went even smaller. “Did I do it wrong?” 

_It?_ _What ‘it’? Kissing?_

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. ‘Course you didn’t. Maker, I never thought I’d feel that. Long as I lived I didn’t dream…”  _ Stop babbling.  _ “Thing is, thing is Celeste, I don’t want you to feel you have to do this because it’s now or never. Because I ruined… because now you want to put an entire future into a night.” 

She expelled a shaky breath, dropped her head forward onto his shoulder. 

He held her gently, grip loose enough that she could break away if she chose to. “You’ll do much better than me. You’ll see, Celeste. Someone you don’t mind touching-” 

“No.” 

The bite in the word made his insides jump. “No?”

“No. I won’t.” Her arms tightened around his waist possessively. “If you think I give up that easy, you don’t know very much about me.” 

His heart skipped and his chest felt too small for it. He was too aware of his own arms around her. “But you said, tomorrow…”

She pulled away to look into his face again. “From tomorrow we’ll likely be separated by bars once more, yes. But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to go… going to find someone else. It will be like before. I’ll bring you bread every day. And... maybe this time we can read together? I’m certain they’ll let me bring books from the library and there are other things we can do, many that I haven’t thought of yet. I’ve heard chess is an enjoyable game and-”

A swell of emotion drove his lips to hers. She stiffened for the merest instant and then her mouth responded. Desire washed over him. It buzzed up his spine and across his skin. He parted her lips with his tongue and let himself delve into her. He wanted to taste more of her, have her,  _ devour  _ her. He wanted to give himself over completely, pleasure her in ways she’d never known. He broke the kiss to breathe, to trail his lips along her jaw, her neck… His hands moved, almost of their own accord, to the buttons at her throat that would give him access to more of her. He looked into her face for confirmation… her eyes were pressed closed. 

She’d gone stiff again. 

He hadn’t even noticed, he’d been so lost in his own passion. How had he not realised that her breath was ragged and shallow, that her arms had gone loose around him?

He touched her cheek and she flinched. 

“Celeste?” 

It took a moment for her eyes to open, and when they did it wasn’t the look of adoration he’d hoped for. Her pupils were large black circles. He’d seen fear up close often enough to recognise it.

“Don’t…”

“I won’t, I won’t,” he said quickly. He removed his hands from her so quickly she may as well have been burning hot. He’d forgot himself. He’d taken her back to  _ that _ . “Sorry, I’m so sorry, please. I didn’t…”

She grabbed his hand from the air, pressed it to her breast. “Don’t stop.”

Heat rushed through him, but a different kind from the desire he’d felt before. This was closer to shame. Another familiar feeling. 

“I want you,” she said. But her body said otherwise. Every part of her rigid, shrinking from him. 

He removed his hand from her. “No, you don’t.” 

“I do, Raleigh, I do. Please.” Her body started shivering. It was at war with her words.  “Please don’t let... don’t let him ruin this.”

_ Him.  _ Samson didn’t know what he was supposed to do, but he knew he had to do  _ something _ . Mimicking what she’d done earlier to comfort him, he gathered her into his arms. Her fingers fisted in his shirt again as she repeated her pleas in an increasingly small voice. “Shhh…” he pressed his lips to the top of her head. “It’s all right. We’re not going to do anything. Not tonight. Shh…”

Eventually she stilled, her face buried in a pool of shadow, tucked against his chest. He thought she might have fallen asleep until she swore. “I killed him. Ten years ago. I tore him limb from limb. He was scattered across a corridor, Raleigh. You can not imagine a more gruesome death. How does he still control me? Ten years...”

He stroked her hair and tried to find useful words. “How many times have you tried this before. Since then, I mean?”

“I… I haven’t.” 

It was hardly a surprise, given her reaction that day on the battlements. “There you go. It hasn’t been ten years, not really. You had this part of you locked away, didn’t ya?”

“I suppose.”

He let the silence sink in around them. There was something about this shrine that seemed to amplify the silence. Void, it probably did exactly that. It was a shrine to the god of silence, wasn’t it?

“Sometimes I feel like an abomination,” Celeste said. “They told us so many times that it would happen to us if we tried blood magic. But that’s not when it happened. It happened long before. It’s like… he lives inside me now. He’s always there, in my mind, judging me, threatening me. Maybe he will continue to live as long as I do. Like Justice lives in Anders.”

Samson tightened his grip around her. “You’re not an abomination.” 

“You don’t understand.”

“Maybe not. But I know that he’s not you. You are the kindest, bravest, most generous person I know. That’s the truth. You watched out for me when everyone else wanted me dead. You’re the one who cared for the Hero, and that baby of hers, after that mess that was her birth. And you did everything you could to save the both of them. And here you are, chasing after me when everyone knows I don’t deserve it. He lives in your memory maybe, but he’s not a part of you. Never was. I don’t need to understand to know that. I know you. That’s enough.” He kissed her forehead again because he dared not kiss her lips.

She pressed herself to him and he didn’t know whether she believed him or not, but she said no more. 

He wanted to tell her he loved her. He’d said it before, in that letter, but the the words stuck in his throat. He’d never said them out loud and he was too much of a coward to speak them into this silence. It was enough that she was curled against him, that she wanted him.  _ No need to complicate things further.  _

  
  


* * *

  
  


Cullen gasped as a shock of pain blazed up his side. His sensitive skin screamed as he slammed against the wall, momentarily crippled by the latest spasm. 

“Cullen!” Solana was quiet, but what alarm didn’t carry in her voice showed in her bright green eyes. She rushed back to his side. She’d been checking ahead. All that had been required of him was to stand and wait for her. He hadn’t even managed that. 

Much time had passed since they’d left their cell, but they’d covered hardly any distance. 

“Solana, listen.”

“No.”   


He gritted his teeth through another spasm. The corridor around them expanded and contracted as if it was painted on canvas. Hallucinations. There wasn’t long left now. 

“Solana, you need to leave me.”

“No.” She hefted his arm across her shoulders again, but he made himself dead weight. She could argue all she liked but the fact of the matter was…

“Solana, I’m dying. You need to leave me so you can get out of here -”

“No.”

“Listen to me. Alise needs you.” 

“She needs you too.” Solana’s jaw was set and he saw the strain in her muscles as she tried to pull him up. “I’m not leaving you, Cullen. I’m not-” 

“ _ Think _ , Solana.” A wave of nausea crashed down on him. The edges of his vision blurred and he thought he might be sick, right there on top of her. He swallowed, and swallowed again. He needed to make his point. “If we both die here… if we both die… we accomplish nothing. Go back to Leliana. Tell her about this pl… this place.” 

“I don’t care about  _ accomplishing _ anything.” She faced him, giving up on trying to pull him to his feet. “You are my husband. I am not leaving you.” 

“You are so... stubborn.” He lacked the energy for anger. She went translucent before him and he had to squint to see her. All that remained was red hair and red blood, streaked across her hands and her body. 

She shook him and every movement was fresh agony. He cried out, despite himself, and she finally stopped. And then she was tugging on his arm again, growling obscenities. 

Naturally she was as headstrong as ever. It was clear the only way to get her to move forward was to go with her. He let her pull him to standing. She made appreciative noises as he moved one foot forward, then the other. 

He wouldn’t live to the end of the corridor. He was almost certain of that. Liquid fire burned in his veins and reality twisted around them. But getting her to safety was important and if the only way to make her leave was to die, then he’d oblige. 

Cullen focused ahead and forced his body to move, every step felt like a battle for his soul. He bit into his tongue to keep silent. He bit so hard that metallic blood filled his mouth. But his will was only so strong. Two steps, maybe three, and then his legs would no longer hold him. He collapsed forward onto his knees, the impact sending a new layer of flame up through him. 

“Cullen! Cullen no!” 

Was it his imagination or did he hear footsteps? Solana looked towards the end of the corridor. She must have heard it too. Yes, hurried footfalls drawing nearer. She turned back to him. 

“We need to hide.” 

She looked around wildly. She must have seen some kind of cover because she began trying to pull him to his feet again, but much as he willed himself to move he could not. It felt like the ground itself was sucking him down, like his limbs had become exponentially heavy. He couldn’t even find the strength to ask her, once again, to leave him. 

The tugging stopped. Solana went still. He managed to lift his gaze, to see what had halted her efforts. 

There, at the end of the corridor, frozen in obvious surprise, was Anders. 

Someone asked a question that Cullen didn’t hear beyond the throbbing of his own heart. Another figure joined him. Nathaniel. 

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” Nathaniel said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUMMARY OF THE CHAPTER
> 
> Solana is shocked to learn that Cullen's taking lyrium again. She calls for help and when their jailers ignore her, she throws herself against the bars so that her collar clangs against them and causes a racket. The Warden guard uses the collar to subdue her, but she has their attention. She offers to do absolutely anything they want in exchange for lyrium and undoes the top buttons of her robe to hint at her meaning (this "seduce the guard" technique worked for her in Loghain's prison). She knows that this time she'd have to go through with it because she doesn't have magic to protect herself, but she is willing to to save Cullen who she calculates to be very near death. 
> 
> There are two Warden guards. The older is immediately interested and makes her kneel before him and taunts her. She suspects he may not even have lyrium, but wants to take advantage of a powerful mage and say that he's done sexual acts with the Hero of Ferelden. She's out of her depth. She hopes the younger will have sympathy but he doesn't. At the very last minute, she notices a dagger on the older Warden's waist.
> 
> When she hears signs of struggle from Cullen who's being held back by the younger Warden, she manages to grab the dagger and slice the older Warden's throat. A battle with the younger Warden ensues. He uses the collar to try subdue her, but Cullen manages to find the strength to smack him over the head with a pail and stab him. 
> 
> They take the control rod for her collar and escape the cell. 
> 
> \--
> 
> Meanwhile Samson watches Celeste sleep. He's ashamed of his earlier breakdown and believes Celeste will lose all interest in him now she knows how he's a "weak coward who makes one irrational, self-defeating decision after another". He reflects on incidents in his past: the letters, some events we saw in DA2 and a night in Kirkwall when he was paid to "serve" some sailors and didn't realise he was prostituting himself until too late and he blames himself for not realising, and for not fighting them off when their intentions became clear. He felt like someone worthy as Corypheus's general, but he realises now that it was an illusion, as was the idea that he could make Celeste and Ren happy. 
> 
> But Celeste wakes up and sees his expression and kisses him. They share some tender minutes, during which she confesses that she still wants to be with Samson even if they're separated by bars. They become increasingly passionate, but she locks up before things get very far. She wants to push through, lamenting that she feels like an abomination possessed by her abuser, but Samson refuses to continue until she's comfortable, which he assures her will come in time. They fall asleep cuddling. 
> 
> \--
> 
> Cullen and Solana struggle up a corridor away from the Warden dungeon. Cullen is weak and spasming and starting to hallucinate. He begs Solana to leave him and save herself. She refuses. They hear footsteps coming. There's no time to hide. 
> 
> Anders and Nathaniel appear together at the other end of the corridor.


	36. The Truth

Samson jerked awake.

He wasn’t sure what had woken him. He looked around the chamber, seeing nothing but the same familiar shapes illuminated by the wall sconces. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep again. He was _supposed_ to keep watch. But Celeste had been in his arms and holding her had felt so _right_ and so wonderful, he must have drifted off.

He climbed carefully off the bed, glancing at her. It wouldn’t hurt to check around. He retrieved the sword from where he’d set it on Maddox’s workbench earlier and stepped towards the door.

A shadow moved. He turned towards it, sword bared.

There was a mage standing by the bed.

He had slick black hair ( _Tevinter?_ ) and pallid skin ( _or Circle?_ ). It didn’t matter. What mattered that he was closer to Celeste than Samson was, and he held an old dinged staff in his hand.

“Hello Samson,” he said.

His voice seemed to be absorbed by the walls. Celeste didn’t so much as stir.

“Do I know you?” Samson asked. His heart raced, but he dared not move while that mage was so close to Celeste.

The man shrugged and looked down at her sleeping form. “It hardly matters, we’re just mages.”

_We_? Plural? Did he mean Celeste?

Her eyes flickered open. She stared straight up at him. Samson heard her intake of breath as she sat. She summoned fire to her palm, the way she’d shown him before.

“That’s unnecessary,” the mage said.

Beside him, two other mages melted out of the shadows. How did they _do_ that?

“We’re not here to hurt anyone, we’ve been sent as an escort.”

Could these be the nightingale’s agents? Here to take him back to Skyhold? A dramatic entrance to say the least, but he hoped that was the case. Then Celeste was not in danger.

“I’ll go with you,” Samson said.

“They’re not here for you.” Celeste’s eyes met the lead mage’s. Had she recognised him? Samson’s grip tightened on his sword. What could they want with her?

The lead mage inclined his head.

“We were told you got a little lost on your way,” a voice spoke behind Samson. He spun. Another mage had been standing right across Maddox’s workbench and he hadn’t seen him. This one held a limp body against his chest. The body wore the colours of the Inquisition. Its head lolled forward, showing black hair and pointed ears. The mage dropped it. The body landed with a thud on the tiled floor.

Samson would put coin on _that_ being his escort.

“Maker,” Celeste said. She’d paled and she snuffed the flame in her palm. “What do you want of me?”

Instead of answering, the mage sang. “Enchanter come to me, enchanter come to see.” He grinned.  “As you once were blind in the light now you can see. In our strength we can rely and history will not repeat.”

Celeste swallowed. “ _You_ brought Samson here. You knew I’d follow.”

The mage inclined his head again.

“What!” If what they were saying was true, he’d led Celeste into this trap. Whatever was happening was his fault. He needed to understand it. Was this to do with Anders?

The mage ignored him. “It is not far from here. Once you have seen for yourself what we are building, you will stay and help us. We cannot allow the Circles to return. You of all people should know that.”

Celeste nodded. She rose slowly, as if to not startle the mages. “I will come with you on one condition.”

The mage smiled again, “You wish no harm to come to Ser Samson.”

“Yes.”

“Fear not. The Grand Enchanter instructed us to bring him too.”  


 

 

* * *

  
In the shadowy corridor, Solana couldn’t see Anders’ eyes, couldn’t see if she was speaking to Justice, or his host.

She was his prisoner. She’d killed his guards. The evidence was all over her hands, her chest, her hair. Why he’d show her mercy, she couldn’t guess.

“Please…” The word slipped through her lips regardless.

It was all she could think and all she could feel. Cullen was a dead weight, head hung low, and she didn’t even know if he was still conscious.

Anders surged forward and Solana was powerless to do anything but flinch back. He fell to his knees and reached for Cullen. “What happened?”

She couldn’t even cast a barrier to protect her husband. “He needs lyrium. Please?”

Anders looked up at her. His eyes were brown. Human. “Lyrium?”

Nathaniel stood behind Anders with his arms folded and his brow furrowed. “Well, he’s a Templar, is he not?”  She wanted to set his balls on fire.

“I thought he gave up all of that?” Anders asked Solana.

Perhaps he wasn’t as cruel as his Wardens. Perhaps he would have ensured they were given a supply of lyrium if he’d known. She shook her head.

Anders felt around Cullen’s neck. It lolled disconcertingly and Solana didn’t want to think what that might mean. He’d definitely lost consciousness.

“There isn’t much time,” Anders said.

“I’ll tell you anything. I’ll do anything. Please save him.”

He looked at her in clear confusion. “What?”

“I told you,” Nathaniel said. “They think you’re responsible for this mess.”

Anders blinked. “What? Still?”

“Evidently.”

Solana searched his face. She saw no trace of what she’d expected - a power-hungry mage, a man who’d lost control, a desperate spirit. His features were gentle as she remembered them being.

“Nathaniel, help me,” he ordered. “We need to get him out of here. Solana, can you walk?”

_Out of here?_ She nodded.

“Out of here?” Nathaniel echoed her thoughts. “You can’t be serious?”

Anders hefted one of Cullen’s arms around his shoulder. “Nathaniel!”

“Can’t you just heal him and send him on his way?”

“It’s withdrawal. He needs lyrium, not spirits. I have some potions in the cottage, but we need to hurry.”

Nathaniel came forward obediently to take the other arm. They hefted Cullen up and he sagged between them.

“You realise this may be our last chance,” Nathaniel muttered.

“It won’t be. We have a few days.”   
  
“I hope you’re right.”

They moved forward and Solana drifted after them. She was tired and scared and what they were saying made no sense. Why was Anders carrying Cullen instead of calling for help? What _cottage_? Cullen said Justice had taken over, but this was definitely not Justice.

Unless everyone had been wrong.

_Leliana_ had been wrong.

Anders had nothing to do with what was going on here.

“’Bout time you - who’s that?” A voice sounded at the other end of the corridor and Solana’s stomach dropped.

“Change of plans,” Nathaniel answered it.

“Ahh, piss on a stick.”

_Wait…_ she knew that voice. It had been over a decade but she was certain…

She peered around Anders and sure enough, there, at the end of the corridor, wearing Grey Warden armour and a sour expression…

“Oghren?”

The dwarf’s bushy eyebrows shot up and he started laughing. “Well I never. Solana, that really you?”

“It’s really her,” Anders confirmed. “Scout ahead, we need to make a swift exit. Tell Velanna we’ll need a wagon.”

“A wagon?” He gaped at Anders with that same not-quite-sober look he’d often given Solana at her orders.

“Go!”

“Alright, alright.” He held his hands up and backed away, disappearing down the corridor.

Was she hallucinating? Or dreaming? Solana looked up at the ceiling. Grey stone, not the green of the Fade. “I don’t understand. He… We… Is he a Warden?”

“Yes, he’s a Warden,” Nathaniel confirmed. “We’re all Wardens here. Except, of course, for yourself. And your dear husband. And the mages upstairs.”

“Mages upstairs?”

“Oh, you don’t know about those yet?”

“Not now, Nathaniel,” Anders instructed.

Nathaniel fell silent, once again taking Anders’s orders without question. This wasn’t Justice, but it wasn’t entirely Anders as Solana had known him either. Before, he’d been quiet and obedient, following Fiona’s instructions or following Hawke like a devoted puppy. Now he led.

They wove down corridors, turning seemingly at random. They did not encounter any more Wardens and eventually they came to a large crack in the wall. Nathaniel slipped out first, and then he and Anders maneuvered Cullen through. When Solana followed, she was surprised to feel a cool breeze on her face. They were outside. It was night time and the air smelled like forest.

“And I suppose you’d like me to produce a prize nug from thin air?” a cold female voice asked. Solana couldn’t see who was speaking.

“Did you get the cart?”

“Of course. But they will notice its absence.”

Anders didn’t respond. Solana could just make out his pauldrons ahead of her as he and Nathaniel carried Cullen forward. She nearly tripped over a tree root. Someone caught her arm.

“Hey Sol,” Oghren said at her elbow. “I, eh, you’re covered in blood.”

She almost laughed. “I suppose few things change?”

“Heh.”

Oghren guided her after the others. They walked a short distance through trees and bushes, then there was a different kind of movement ahead. The shape that Solana knew to be Cullen was lifted. She could make out the vague outlines of something square in front of them.

“Wait, I need to go with him.” She plunged forward, whacking her shins against the cart.

“Easy.” Anders took her arm and helped her up. She crawled, feeling her way along Cullen’s body to his head. Desperately, she felt for his pulse. It was weak, but it was there. She heard someone else climb in after her.

Gentle hands took hers. “Are _you_ hurt?” Anders asked.

Her neck still stung from when Corbin had used the collar on her. It was a constant burning pain, but it was bearable and certainly not worth Anders wasting mana on. “No.”

Someone else scrambled into the cart with them. “You sure?” Oghren asked beside her. “Yer got blood all over yer.”

“She’s the Hero, she’s fine,” Anders said softly. There was a smile in his voice. It was lightly teasing.

Oghren snorted as the cart started to move. “I could tell you stories. This one time, in the Denerim’s alienage-”

“Hey, quiet.” Nathaniel’s voice came from up front.

The cart moved, somehow, through the forest in the dark. The only sound was the occasional whicker of a horse. After a time that Solana could not measure, it drew to a halt.

“We have to take the rest by foot,” the female voice spoke.

“Alright,” Anders said. “Solana, can you cast that willpower spell on him? The one you taught Haven’s mages? It should make him easier to carry through the trees.”

He didn’t know about the collar. What with the blood, and Cullen, he must not have seen it.

“Solana?”

“No, sorry, I… can’t.”

A small light flickered ahead of her. Anders had lit his staff, just enough so she could see his face. “Can’t?”

She swallowed and pulled down the neck of her robes to show him. His eyes widened. “That’s a… I’ve seen those before, in Kirkwall. What in the Void is Fiona doing with those?”

“Fiona?”

“What is it?” the woman asked.

Anders brushed Solana’s hair aside to get a better look, but she pushed his hands away. “It doesn’t matter. Cullen.”  
  
“Right. We’ll carry him. It’s not far.”

It may not have been far, but it felt far. It felt like that night lost in the forest, pushing through trees packed together so tightly that they almost couldn’t fit, stepping over roots and getting caught up in branches. Solana’s heart pounded louder with every step. This was taking too much _time_!

Eventually they pressed through the trees into a glade. A small wooden cottage with a half-collapsed roof sat in the middle, in a ring of warm light. She could have cried with relief.

The woman went first. As the light fell over her, Solana saw by the curve of her ears that she was an elf. She didn’t wear the uniform of her companions, but her leathers were dyed the blue and grey of the Wardens. A staff on her back revealed her to be a mage. She started drawing patterns in the air. She must have been taking down wards. Anders and Nathaniel carried Cullen inside after her.

The warm light of a fire within bathed the front porch, and as they entered the cottage a man who’d been sitting at a small wooden table by that fire jumped to his feet, knocking his stool halfway across the small room.

“What happened? Is that Knight Captain Cullen?!”

He was human with the build of a soldier. He had dark, close-cropped hair and an arm in a sling. His blue eyes slid to Solana as she entered.

“Velanna, bring the spare potions. All of them,” Anders ordered. “Carver, meet your cousin, Solana.”   
  
_Cousin?_ Now the man was openly gaping at her, but he could wait. She followed Anders and Nathaniel into an adjoining room. It was dark but for a sliver of moonlight spilling onto a double bed from beneath broken shutters. They set Cullen down and she tried to go to him, but her path was blocked by Nathaniel. He grabbed her upper arms and pushed her backwards towards the door.

“Let go of me! He needs me!”  
  
“No, he needs Anders.”

She tried to pull herself free, but Nathaniel’s grip was as tight as the collar around her neck, and thanks to its effects she couldn’t even force him to let go by setting him on fire or turning him to ice. A sob escaped her as she realised just how powerless she was now. These were the same strong arms that had tried to suffocate her, and this time there was nothing she could do to fight him.

“Look.” Nathaniel’s tone was surprisingly gentle. “Anders is an accomplished healer. If anyone can save him, he can. But you need to give him space and let him focus.”

“Why are you helping us?” Her voice came out much smaller than she would have liked.

He continued to guide her backwards until they were standing in the doorway of the room. In the light, she could see his expression and it, too, was surprisingly gentle. His mouth quirked up at the corner - much more familiar - and he sighed. “I did offer to help you back in the town.”

“And then you stole our map.”

“Well, you managed to find the Wardens without it, so I’d say I needed it more than you did.”

The elven woman, Velanna, pushed past them, arms laden with potions. She shot a look at Solana, that then moved quickly to Nathaniel, and then to the hands that were holding her in place. But she disappeared into the room without saying anything.

“Ey, Sol! Bet a drink would do yer good?” Oghren said behind her. She turned to find him sitting at the table with the other man. He waved a bottle of ale in her direction.

Sh _e could_ use a drink, but she didn’t want to be out here. She wanted to be with Cullen. She tried to get a look around Nathaniel, see how he was doing, but she couldn’t see anything.

“Go on,” Nathaniel said. “Carver will fetch you some water to clean up.”

_Carver. Of course._ The name hadn’t registered before.

She went reluctantly to the table, and Nathaniel disappeared into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

“You’re Hawke’s brother?” Solana asked.

“Great, my favourite way of being introduced,” Carver said, sarcastically. “Yes. And who would you be, then?”

“Watch yerself, kid, yer addressing the Hero of Ferelden.” Oghren snort-laughed into his drink.

Carver scowled. “Anders said you’re my cousin?”

“I am,” she offered awkwardly. What did she say? That she was the daughter of Revka Amell and the man who’d murdered his mother? “You don’t talk to your brother at all, then?”

“Not if I can help it. I take it you’ve met him? Is he still as obnoxious? Anders won’t speak of him.” Beneath the obvious distaste, Solana sensed true curiosity. Family really was _complicated_.

Oghren passed her the bottle and she took a long drink. The alcohol was bitter and harsh at the back of her parched throat, but welcome. Carver was still looking at her expectantly when she came up for air.

“Well, I’m not really in his good books at the moment.”

Carver grunted. “Welcome to the club.” He reached for the ale. “What did you do?”

_Demon possession, blood magic, reminded him of the man who killed your mother._

“He didn’t approve of something I did. We had an argument.”

“Hawke doesn’t approve, well perhaps we are family after all.” Carver smiled, and shook his head. “What are you even doing here? Do I want to know who you killed?”

She’d have to admit sooner or later that they’d come looking for Anders. She was pretty certain now that they’d been wrong about him, and that she was safe. They wouldn’t have called off whatever mission they were on to save Cullen if they meant her harm. She raked a hand through her hair, discovered it clumped together with blood. Yes, exactly like old times. “Nathaniel said something about water?”

Carver rose to bring her a basin and she began to tell them everything. She tried to imagine the blood to be that of darkspawn as she pulled it from her hair and as she scrubbed under her nails. Nathaniel came in half way through her explanation and at her desperate look said only, “He’s stable. Sleeping.”

She continued with her tale. Nathaniel interjected when she reached the part where he’d tried to kill her, insisting that he hadn’t tried very hard and it had been a matter of honour more than anything.

“I thought your father was a tosser?” Carver asked.

Nathaniel shrugged. “He was. But he was still my father.”

Oghren grumbled into his drink and Solana knew he was remembering what they’d found in Howe’s torture chamber.

After that, Nathaniel let her tell the rest of the story without interruption. When she was done, Carver shook his head. “Wow, I thought the Inquisition was supposed to be clever.”

It was humiliating being wrong, and she knew that in general the Inquisition _was_ right… wasn’t it? She was too tired to argue. “Alright then, what’s really going on?”

Nathaniel sauntered around the table to take the ale bottle - now the third - from Oghren. “Anders didn’t take the phylacteries. Enchanter Fiona did. When he realised what she’d done, he followed her.”

“Why? Why didn’t he go to the Inquisition?”

“Because I wasn’t entirely blameless,” Anders said from the bedroom doorway. He closed the door gently behind him and came into the room. “You see, I let my curiosity get the better of me. After we discovered your wards, I started trying to figure out how to bring them down. I only wanted a peek. What treasure had the queen sent the Inquisition? It came out that Fiona was attempting the same. So we worked together. Alone we didn’t have enough power. But together, with help from Justice, it was doable.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t break the phylacteries when you saw them.”

He chuckled. “To be honest? Me too. In retrospect, I should have.” He scratched at his temple. “At the time all I could think was how Hawke would react if I brought more trouble down on us. Can you picture it? The queen _and_ the Chantry. I’m all for a good dust-up, but that might be a little ridiculous.” He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “Anyway, Fiona and I _both_ agreed to leave them. We agreed that we’d put up your ward again. Just as it was. Only one of us was lying.”

“She went back for the phylacteries?” Solana guessed.

“Right you are. You know, I had a bad feeling. This was after your thing with the… and the…” He waved at the air. She appreciated how he avoided mentioning exactly what they’d done in front of the others. “I hadn’t heard from her in a few days. Now, since you’d solved the problem we were working on, it was not entirely unexpected. But usually, she liked to keep an eye on me. I don’t think she ever truly trusted me. She’d _appear_ around the place. Like a sodding Templar. When she didn’t show her face for a couple of days, I grew nervous and I went to check the phylacteries and, well, I found what you did. Which is to say, nothing.”

“And you followed her here? Where do the rest of you come in?”

Nathaniel placed the ale back in the middle of the table, where Oghren, naturally, grabbed it. “Well, I followed you, they followed me.”

She gave him a look that she hoped said _that’s ridiculous._

“We thought Anders was dead,” Oghren chimed in. “We saw the body an’ everything.”

Anders stared at his feet. “Yes, well, I may have faked my own death to escape the Wardens.”

“That’s not why you did it,” Nathaniel said, in that gentle voice he’d used with Solana before.

“He did it for luuuurve.” Oghren’s voice went singsong and he laughed as if the entire situation was the funniest thing.

Anders strode across the room and wrested the bottle from him. “If I’m going to be explaining myself all night, at least give me a drink, will you?”

This only made Oghren laugh louder as Anders finished off the bottle.

Then he knelt opposite Solana and brushed the hair away from her neck again. “I’m assuming you’re not going to use your powers to murder us all in our sleep?”

She couldn’t resist a pointed look at Nathaniel over Anders’s shoulder. “No.”

He had the decency to avoid her gaze.

Anders fiddled with the lock a little, then called Nathaniel over. He, too, dropped to his knees and Anders moved aside so he could get a proper look at the mechanism.

Solana did not like having Nathaniel so close to her. Especially when Anders explained that he’d known such collars to have ‘kill switches’ sometimes, that drove a piece of metal into a mage’s throat if she tried to escape.

“Seven,” Nathaniel said softly. His mouth was very near her ear as he worked at the lock, so she knew the word was for her benefit.

“What?” Her heart fluttered. This wasn’t how she wanted to die. How would they explain it to Cullen?

“The number of opportunities I’ve had to kill you, and haven’t.” He pulled away a little so she could see his face. He smiled at her.

Something clicked and she closed her eyes. Then, a spear of scalding pain so intense she screamed.

Anders pushed Nathaniel out of the way. “What did you do? What happened?”

“Nothing! The collar is loose. Look!”

Solana gulped in air. Her eyes watered, the pain was so severe. Oghren and Carver were on their feet, demanding to know whether Nathaniel had murdered the Hero of Ferelden. She half expected Oghren to jump him.

Anders moved the collar and another wave of pain crashed down on her.

“Ah, I see,” he said with surprising calm.

Her vision blurred. “Kill switch?”

“No. Not that. You said you weren’t in pain before.”

That wasn’t what she’d said. She’d said she wasn’t injured.

“Solana, your neck… they used this thing on you? Did they torture you?”

Nathaniel sucked in air as he leaned in to look at the damage. “Is that - it looks like it’s grafted itself to her skin.”  
  
Even Oghren made a disgusted noise at that. Carver came closer to get a good look.

“It’s my own fault.” She was in too much pain to go into details. “Can you do anything?”

Anders nodded. “Of course. It might take a while, and it’s going to hurt.” He moved the collar a little and she shrieked. Some hero she was proving herself to be. His magic swept over her. Comforting, intoxicating, pure relief. He pulled at the collar again and this time the pain wasn’t quite as bad, although it was bad enough that she had to clench her teeth. She dug her fingers into the bottom of her seat. He pulled again. Pull, heal. Pull, heal.

“You wanted to know about me faking my death,” Anders said, calmly. “Short version is, darkspawn were invading Amaranthine. There wasn’t much of an army after the Blight, so the Warden Commander took Nathaniel, Oghren and Velanna to the city to try help. I was left behind with a few others to keep the home fires burning. The darkspawn decided to attack the Keep too. We were overrun. Everyone died.”

_Pull._

“Except you?” Solana prompted through the pain.

_Heal._

“No, including me. But what the darkspawn didn’t know was that one of our companions was a spirit inhabiting a corpse. I was fighting at his side when they took me down. He knew that he could save me by switching over to _my_ body instead.”

“Justice,” Solana breathed. She’d never heard the story of how he’d ended up with Justice.

He nodded. _Pull._ “What neither of us counted on was the effect that my experience and emotions would have on him. Once he had access to my memories, he saw Karl.”

Solana remembered Anders mentioning Karl before, at Kinloch.

_Heal._ “I had witnessed much injustice, but for some reason Karl’s transfer burned brightest. I was halfway to Kirkwall before I knew it, intent on rescuing him. And, well, you know the rest.”

“We returned from Amaranthine to a massacre,” Nathaniel said. “One burnt and broken corpse was very like another. Anders had dressed Justice’s old host in his clothes and we didn’t know better.”

“That much I can understand.” Solana hissed as Anders tugged the collar, a little more aggressively than before. “But how did you not know about the Chantry? The rebellion?”

Nathaniel smirked. “You weren’t far wrong before when you asked if I’d been under a rock. We were in the Deep Roads, investigating the Red Lyrium your cousins let loose.”

“That’s where you came in?” Solana asked Carver, who was still keenly watching Anders’s progress with the collar. “You discovered that thaig with Hawke, didn’t you?”  

“That’s right.” Carver looked a little sheepish. “The darkspawn didn’t make it easy to go back. Amazing how many can appear within the space of a year. We had to fight our way down. Multiple times. We dared not take too many samples up at once. Didn’t want to go crazy like Bartrand.”

Varric’s brother. She’d heard the story.

“Or Meredith,” Anders added. “Not that they knew about her at that stage. By the time they came up, Hawke and I were long gone and they somehow managed to not hear about our dashing exploits. At least not with our names attached to them.”

“Dashing. Yeah, right.” Carver shook his head.

Nathaniel played with an empty ale bottle. “The first time I heard Anders’s name since Vigil’s Keep was a few weeks ago when someone asked me if I knew where he was. I thought, when we met, that you had sent the woman to bait me. I suspected you were involved in all of this. Wardens disappearing. Mages involved. Who else to be at the centre than the Hero of Ferelden?” 

She hadn’t thought of it that way. “What woman?"

"Isabella," Anders provided. "A friend from Kirkwall. Hawke must have sent her to look for me."

"Well killing me wasn’t a very sound strategy for finding out more.”

Another aggressive tug at the collar left Solana gasping, but this time it came off in Anders’s hands. He brushed his fingers across her neck, trailing warmth and relief. “There.”

And just like that, the pain was gone. She lifted her hand and called fire into her palm. It blazed bright as ever. She was herself.

“You saved me once again,” she said. “Thank you hardly seems adequate at this point. Especially since…”

“Since you were coming here to kill me?” Humour danced in his eyes, but she still felt ashamed.

The bedroom door opened and Velanna stuck her head out. “He’s moaning. What should I do?”


	37. Enrage

This time, Solana was permitted to enter the bedroom. 

Cullen lay under a quilt, shirtless. Beads of sweat stood out against his brow, illuminated by a single candle beside the bed. He threw his head from side to side, as if in the grip of a nightmare. 

Anders took a bottle from the nightstand and steadied Cullen’s head. He dripped potion into his mouth, one glowing blue drop at a time. “It’s mage-grade,” he said softly. “Not quite as much as he needs, but it should allow him to coast this out. Do you know how much he’s been taking?”

Solana was forced to admit she did not. 

“Alright, well, we’ll have to be cautious. Last thing he needs is an overdose.” He set the bottle aside and stared at it absently.

Solana gripped Cullen’s limp hand. She hoped he could feel her presence. Beyond the door there was laughter and a loud discussion that Solana could only catch odd words of. 

“What is Fiona doing with the phylacteries?” she asked Anders. 

Away from his companions, he looked more like the man she knew. His face was drawn and he rubbed his eyes. 

When he spoke, he spoke into his lap. “Our mission tonight was going to be reconnaissance… I don’t believe we have the full picture of what’s going on here.” 

“Well, what do you have?”

“I’ve been watching this… operation… for some time now. Wardens, mages. That alone might be cause for concern given recent history. But there’s more. When Nathaniel and the others arrived, we sent Carver in as a - well, as a spy. He was...” Anders glanced at the door as if to make sure they were still alone. “He was tortured.”

“Tortured!” 

Anders waved a hand to keep Solana’s voice down. “ They  didn’t put a collar on him, but they did run electricity through him, same as you. He can't say why. He thought maybe they were testing his tolerance. More concerning though: they drew his blood.”   
  
“Blood? She’s performing blood magic?” 

“No. Well, I don’t know. From what he’s said it sounds more like… well…”

“Anders.” 

“Experiments. It sounds like experiments. It sounds like the mages would subject the Wardens to lightning, pain, potions, a variety of  _ tests _ , and then take samples of their blood after. Not unlike... “

“Samson.” A rush of cold flooded Solana. She gripped Cullen’s hand tighter. “And the Wardens came to her willingly, because she said she’d cure them of the Taint. But she’s what? Torturing them to find a cure for the Blight? And where do the mages come in? How did she get them to agree to this?” 

Anders waved for her to calm down again. Of course, it wouldn’t do for the others to learn that the two of them had aided Fiona with her initial experiments. “I have two theories, but you’re not going to like them.” 

“I don’t like any of this so far.” 

“Fair enough. Alright. You were asking about the phylacteries…”

A chill raced up Solana's spine. “Andraste. She’s got control of the mages.”

“Not necessarily. As I mentioned, I’ve been watching for a while. I haven’t seen anyone freshly harrowed or particularly desperate looking. So, I suspect that these are members of Fiona’s mage rebellion. Carefully selected. Not controlled by the phylacteries, but perhaps summoned by them.”

That was slightly less chilling, but it still didn’t explain why. Unless Fiona was beyond reason. Unless her desperation to cure the Blight had her torturing Wardens en masse.  

Cullen groaned. Anders placed a hand on his forehead and it glowed blue. “So that’s the one theory. She needed a workforce, and the phylacteries helped her obtain it.”

Cullen stilled again.

“And the other?” Solana asked, although the grave look Anders gave her made her stomach tighten with dread. Did she really want to know?

“Fiona knows what you did. To cure Alise, and yourself. I haven’t told the others, but… such a ritual would require mages.”

“No,” Solana said automatically. “No. She wouldn’t do that.”

“She has Wardens who wish to be cured…”

“But she’s collecting their blood. She wouldn’t if she intended to… No. She can’t mean to possess them. She can’t. She wouldn’t do something so... so irresponsible. She knows the risks.”

Anders met her gaze. “How many would say the same about you?” 

“That’s  _ different _ . Alise is my  _ child _ .”

“And Alistair was  _ her  _ child.” 

It surprised Solana that he knew, that Fiona would have told him. Anders shook his head. “She’s been looking for a cure to the Calling since before _you_ were born. We can’t expect her not to use it.” 

“It doesn’t make sense.” It did, but she didn’t want it to. “What would the mages get out of that?” 

Anders sighed. “That is what I don’t know. If they were indeed part of the rebellion… that is unsettling.” 

“Unsettling?” Coming from the man who’d pretty much started that very rebellion.

“I don’t like the idea of mages being used. It was different when we were prisoners fighting for our freedom. Now we  _ are _ free. If this is the sort of thing we do as free mages, we’ll only be adding legitimacy to the Chantry’s calls for the Circles to be reestablished... Whatever she’s doing, we have to stop her, Solana. Will you help us?” 

 

* * *

 

Samson thanked the absent Maker and Andraste’s holy knickers that he hadn’t given in to Celeste’s urging and made love to her that night. He had no idea how long the mages had been there and it disgusted him to think they may have witnessed  _ that _ . As it was, they’d probably seen his glorious breakdown in all its pathetic wonder. 

He stood perfectly still as they made ready to leave. Celeste did seem to know a few of them. She addressed them by name, asking where they would be going and why. But the mages did not answer her and offered only variations of, “You’ll see when we get there.”

To him, they said nothing. He may not even have existed, except that shortly before leaving one of them demanded his sword. He was still holding the thing, although his arm rested at his side. He’d been careful not to appear a threat.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Samson told the mage levelly, recalling the red shimmer that had passed over the metal in the light.

The mage made a sound of annoyance and snatched it from his grip. He was a pale chap, but he paled further. It was immediately clear the sword was too damned heavy for him. His muscles - such as they were - strained and his arm shook. His eyes grew larger and larger and he let out a little squeak before dropping it. It clattered onto the ground, loudly enough that everyone turned to them.

The mage pointed at the sword. “It’s possessed!”

“No, it’s not,” Samson said.

“When I touched it, it, it… it spoke to me. And my mana, I couldn’t. It’s got a demon in it!”

Samson bent to pick it up, but the mage unshouldered a staff and pointed it at him. “No, step away from it!”

“Let me guess...” Samson rested his hands on his thighs. “It sang to you? And it cut off access to your magic. That right?”

The mage nodded. Samson reached for the sword again, keeping his eyes locked on the mage. “Lyrium. Not demons.”

“Leave it!” He cut the air with his staff.

Samson bit his tongue. He didn’t want to anger the jumpy scrap of a man, but he wasn’t about to leave the sword that Maddox had made for him here. “It won’t affect me. I’m immune.”

“You’re not bringing a sword along. You’ll murder us  all in our bedrolls .”

“Will I, now?” At this rate the mage would be fortunate to survive that long. 

“Leave him, Deuter,” the lead mage instructed. 

Samson needed no more encouragement than that. He picked up the sword and tucked it into the sheath on his belt. It fit as well as his old sword had, although it was heavier. When he stood, he found the mage leader smiling at him thinly, although his eyes were still cold. 

“We’re not taking prisoners, after all,” he said to the other mage. “There’s no harm in those we escort being armed, is there?” 

He seemed to want a response from Samson. “No?”

The mage chuckled. “You’ll see when we get there, we’re all on the same side.”

 

* * *

 

 

The pain beat with Cullen’s heart, an all-consuming ache pulling him from sleep. He wanted to escape the pain, sink back into the deep warm dark, but no matter how he turned his head, it drummed on. It felt like his brain was too large for his head, and it was expanding outward, pushing against the inside of his skull. His throat felt raw, his tongue large and heavy. 

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. 

He was no longer in the cell, but in a bright room, on a soft bed. It smelled a little of moss and… something else. Lyrium. He could  _ smell  _ lyrium.

“Cullen?” 

He turned his head to the other side, squinting against morning light that spilled from a window. No sooner did he move, however, then his view as blocked by a bush of red hair. 

“Cullen!”

She kissed his cheek, his nose, his lips, his forehead, and her hand lingered on his other cheek as she pulled away enough for him to see her. Solana. 

Her eyes were bloodshot and sunken, but she smiled at him, and she stroked his hair. “How are you feeling?” 

“Alive,” he said. The note of surprise in his voice made him feel silly, but the last thing he remembered was… “Anders?” 

A figure moved beside Solana, backlit by the window and difficult to see properly. “Good Morning, Commander. Drink this.” 

Cullen’s heart leapt to his throat. _No!_ His weakened arm muscles shook violently as he tried to push his body upwards to sit. “Get away from her!”

He lashed out, knocking into Anders’s arm as he was passing Cullen a bright blue clay mug. Anders stumbled backwards, managing to hold onto the mug, although some of the liquid sloshed out. Blue liquid. 

Cullen’s pulse thrummed. He knew he had to get Solana out of here, get her to safety. But the blue… was that… could it be? He paused long enough for Solana to press her warm hand to his bare chest. 

“It’s alright, Cullen. Lie back now. You’re safe.” 

He  _ wanted _ to believe her. 

“Maybe I should leave,” Anders said. He hesitated a moment. Now Cullen could see his face. He looked as drained as Solana did. His skin was papery. His hair hung loose, brushing his shoulders, and he sported rough, uneven, stubble. He didn’t look anything like a warlord. He handed Solana the mug. 

“It’s a lyrium tea,” he said to Cullen. “Elfroot for the side effects, citrus for absorption, and honey for taste. I used to give it to the washed up Templars in Dark Town. When I could get the lyrium that is. I… Right. I’ll check in again later.” 

When the door clicked shut behind him, Solana helped Cullen sit. She puffed up the cushions and fussed with the blanket. 

This felt like a trick. This room could not exist. They were in the Warden fortress. Blood everywhere and the collar and the endless corridors and… the withdrawal, the confession. He must be mad, dreaming or dead. 

Solana kissed his forehead again. She pressed the mug into his trembling hand. It was warm and a slice of orange bobbed on the surface of the liquid within. When he didn’t drink immediately, she guided the tea to his lips and he was too weak to fight her, especially when he smelled the lyrium again. He drained the mug in large thirsty gulps. Some dribbled down his chin and Solana wiped it away. 

This was the Solana of his fantasies, but in his fantasies she’d never looked this tired. In his fantasies she wouldn’t have been wearing stained robes, and the milky skin at her neck would not have been splotched red. And he certainly wouldn’t have fantasized that Anders would be here.

Which meant he really was, miraculously, alive. Alive and out of that Warden Keep. Alive and Anders was helping him. Alive and… and Solana knew about the lyrium, knew he had endangered them both with his addiction. She had almost… for him… 

The memory of her before that Warden rushed back at him and he felt physically ill. 

“Why aren’t you angry with me?” he asked in a broken voice. 

“We were wrong about Anders,” she said. “It’s Fiona who took the phylacteries and we’re going to get them back. Hawke’s brother is here. Carver. You know him, don’t you? And Oghren from the Blight and Nathaniel of course, and-”

“Why aren’t you _angry_ with me?” he repeated. He didn’t care about the phylacteries anymore. All he could see in his mind was her on her knees. “You should be angry. What you did… What you nearly had to do because of me.” 

Her beautiful eyes went wide. “You’re alive. None of that matters.”  

“But the lyrium. I hid it from you.”

She seized his hands in hers, bowed her head and kissed his fingers. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“Solana.” He gently pulled his hands free. He needed to tell her the truth. The full truth. “I’ve been taking it again… taking it since I came back from South Reach.”

She stared at him. Good. He didn’t deserve this affection. 

“That long?” Her voice was small. 

He found he couldn’t bear to look at her. “I wanted... I wanted to go back to how things were before. I thought lyrium would help. I thought it would make me better. I thought it would fix things between us, fix me. “

“There's nothing wrong with you.”

The statement was ridiculous. “Isn't there? When I was in South Reach all I could think about was seeing you again, holding Alise. But when I got back…”

“You were angry with me.”

“Maybe I should have spoken to you about it. I was so afraid that if I let my anger loose…” He knew his anger was a terrifying thing. Even then, he hadn’t wished to hurt her. “And then I did. What I said about Alistair…”

“Was true. You think I don't know I'm to blame for his death?”

Cullen’s insides jerked at the bitterness in Solana’s tone, at long-buried words she’d probably thought over and over but never actually said. 

“You are not. You thought you were doing the right thing.” 

“I thought that with Alise too.” Her gaze dropped to her hands. “I… I realise now that I was acting as the Hero, not as your wife.” 

He didn’t know what to say. She bit her bottom lip. Her brow creased. “I realise... I’ve been doing that all along. Before Haven, I was alone for such a long time. And before that… I’m not sure I know how to be with someone else, how to be what you need. But I want to try.”

“Solana…” He touched her chin, trying to coax her to meet his gaze. 

“I don’t want to be the sun, Cullen. I don’t want you to fear touching me. I don’t want to drive you to seek refuge in _ lyrium _ .” She spat the word and he realised she  _ was _ angry, but her anger wasn’t directed at him. 

“Solana, it isn’t your fault. _I_ was weak-” 

“I’m your  _ wife _ , Cullen. I should have never allowed you to feel that alone. I-” 

He pulled her into his arms and she let out a sob as her cheek landed against his chest. He held her and she wrapped her arms around him. She was so small, so fragile like this. He pressed his lips to the top of her head.

“It’s not your fault,” he repeated. It didn’t matter whether it was true or not, whether he would have turned to lyrium if she hadn’t run off with Alise that night. Hearing the misery in her voice made his heart ache as badly as his head did. “I love you.” 

 Her muffled voice came from beneath her mane of hair. “I love you too.”   
  


***

 

Cullen slept soundly with Solana in his arms. When he woke, he was alone and light rain was drumming against the window. There were low voices in another room. He tried to hear what they were saying, but he fell asleep again before he could work it out. 

The next time he woke it was to Solana’s gentle kisses. She offered him broth and a thick dark bread to eat. The broth, like the tea, was laced with lyrium and he suspected some sort of sedative, for he fell asleep again halfway through the meal.

 

“Knight Captain?” 

Cullen jerked awake a third time to find a new face at the side of his bed. 

“Carver Hawke?” he asked sleepily, vaguely recalling Solana mentioning he was here. 

Carver smiled, the corners of his mouth crinkling in a way they wouldn’t have a decade prior when they’d first met. His right arm was in a sling, but he held out the blue mug to Cullen with his left. “Anders said I should give you this. They’ve gone out for a bit. Solana said to assure you she isn’t doing anything dangerous.”

Cullen returned Carver’s smile at that. It was good to know she was safe, and that she’d thought to reassure him. He accepted the mug gratefully, and managed to hold it steady as he drank.  

Carver chuckled. “So, you married a mage?”

He had known Cullen at his worst. It was all Cullen could do to stop himself from cringing. “Your brother found the irony amusing too.” 

“I’m sure he did. You remember the heated debates you used to have about mage rights in the Gallows? All the while you were playing dumb, as if you didn’t know exactly what my brother was.” 

Cullen wasn’t particularly fond of reminiscing about those days. “He was always careful not to offer conclusive proof.”

“Rubbish. You let him do as he liked because he helped people.”

There was an element of truth to that. For a long time, Cullen had felt guilty for not acting, for not stopping Anders when he’d first realised he was a mage. But how could he when he was doing so much for Dark Town’s poorest denizens? How could he take Hawke to the Gallows when he was, at times, all that was holding the blighted city together? 

And the truth was, if he had put Anders in the Gallows back then, Solana would most likely be dead now. She would have died from a bear attack, in childbirth, or by Leliana’s arrow. He couldn’t find it in him to regret his actions. 

“And you’re working for Anders now, are you?” he asked. 

Carver leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “He likes to think so. I work for the Wardens. Nathaniel Howe is my commanding officer-” 

“Nathaniel?” Cullen’s heart started pounding. Had Solana mentioned him that morning? Cullen wasn’t sure. But if Solana was with Nathaniel, she  _ wasn’t  _ safe. He had to get to her. He threw his covers aside, but Carver stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Easy, Knight-Captain.”

“Nathaniel wishes to kill Solana. Do you understand? Where did they go?” His head swam.

Carver pushed him back down into bed. “Wished. Past tense. They’re fine now.”

“Fine?” Blood roared in his ears. How could Carver be certain? 

“You probably won’t believe me, but the Warden Commander’s a good man. He helped Solana with that collar of hers last night, right? And he carried you out of the Keep.” 

“Warden Commander?” 

Carver nodded. “That’s right. And a good one. When one of our unit ran off, he went after him himself. Crossed Thedas for him, to make sure he was okay.”

Cullen’s mind was still sluggish, but that rang familiar. “Raoul?” 

“Yeah. He insisted on tracking him alone. Of course Velanna wasn’t having any of that.” 

“Velanna?” 

“Velanna. His wife.” 

It was difficult to reconcile this story with the Nathaniel that Cullen had met. He had been roguish, malevolent, tormented. He certainly hadn’t presented himself as a commander or a family man.

“We followed him. Velanna’s a good tracker. Just as well we did, since he managed to get himself arrested.” 

They must have broken him out of the village gaol. Or perhaps they’d used their position as Wardens to secure his release. Perhaps it hadn’t even been Nathaniel who had stolen their map, but this tracker, Velanna. 

“But you knew Anders was alive. You knew he was with Hawke. When we met Nathaniel he insisted we were lying.” 

Carver shrugged. “It’s not like I enjoy talking about my brother’s love life. Or what he did to Kirkwall.”

Cullen recalled vaguely how Carver had never seemed to like Anders. When he’d seen them together, they’d usually been arguing or throwing sour looks at each other. “Yet you’re helping Anders now?” 

“We’re helping the  _ Wardens _ now.” Something dark crossed his features and he adjusted his sling. “Anders… Well, he’s not as bad as I expected.” He fell silent, staring at the quilt. “Uh… Knight-Captain… do you know what happened between him and my brother? He won’t talk about it.” 

The question was surprising. Hadn’t Carver just said he wasn’t interested in discussing Hawke’s personal life? Cullen cleared his throat. “I do know. But I don’t know if it’s something you wish to hear of.” 

“Well, he is my brother. And I know how he cared about Anders. It must have been quite something… I mean after Kirkwall. They stayed together through that, so... “ His gaze stayed locked at a spot on the quilt. 

Cullen didn’t know if he should say anything. 

“Knight-Captain?” Carver prompted.

Cullen shook his head. “Not Knight-Captain. Just Cullen.”

“About my brother.”

He must have been particularly concerned to insist this way. Best keep it vague. “Well Anders did some things Hawke didn’t approve of. Hawke-”

“Some things.” Carver rubbed his eyes. “These wouldn’t be the same  _ some things _ that Solana referred to?”

“Possibly.” 

“Look, Kn- Cullen, I know my brother can be a prick when the mood takes him, but he’s never gone and killed a bunch of innocents to make a point. I suppose what I’m trying to say is… I want to be on the right side here. I know what Fiona is doing is wrong. But it’s strange that Anders is here without Hawke, isn’t it? If what Anders wants is to set things to rights… well, when there’s an opportunity to save the day, my brother’s always first in line.”

“You’re asking _me_ if you can trust Anders?” 

Carver shrugged. 

“Carver, I came here thinking I’d have to kill Anders. I may not be the right person to ask.”

“Why? Why did you think he took the phylacteries?” 

“You were in Kirkwall.” But that wasn’t the whole story. Where did he start? “I thought that Justice had taken control. I asked Anders to give up control some months ago. I thought that perhaps he hadn’t gotten that control back. You’ve been with him. Is that the case?” 

Carver shook his head. “I haven’t seen Justice. Not like in the old days. Although sometimes they reminisce and Anders will chip in on his behalf. Why did you ask him to give up control?” 

How did he explain? “To save Solana. And our child.”

Carver raised his eyebrows. “Is that what Hawke didn’t approve of?”

It would have been easier to lie, but Carver would have probably had more questions. Best tell the truth and tell it as simply as possible. “Our daughter was born carrying the Taint. Anders tried to cure her. Secretly. With Fiona’s help.” 

“Fiona?” 

“Hawke did not approve of the methods they used,” Cullen added.

“What methods?” 

Cullen recalled the room with the blood vials, the books, Solana’s pale, worried face. That had been the moment things had started to fall apart between them.  _ I don’t know who you are.  _ “Tevinter methods.”

“Tevinter?” He leaned closer. “Are you… were they doing _ blood magic _ ?” 

“In truth, I don’t know. But they were experimenting using blood samples.”

“Blood samples?” Carver squeaked. He rose out of his chair. 

Carver paced across the room and back again. “Did they succeed?” He demanded. “Did they cure the Taint?” 

It had been a terrible mistake to tell him, Cullen knew that now. He swallowed. “As far as I’m aware, none of Fiona’s experiments succeeded.” 

“And Hawke discovered this? That’s why he threw Anders out? And Solana, she was involved?” 

Cullen dodged that question. “Hawke didn’t throw Anders out. He was upset, yes. But Anders left him. To come here. I assume he must have been following Fiona.” 

“Yes.” Carver scowled. “Yes. It all makes sense now. Thank you, Cullen.” 

 

* * *

  
  


“Something’s wrong. The wards have been disturbed.” 

They all stopped behind Velanna. Solana tightened her grip on the staff they’d pinched for her from Fiona’s supplies.

Up to now, it had been a good day. After staying up all night planning, they’d gone on one last scouting mission to the keep to finalise the plans for their attack. They all agreed that they could not risk waiting longer to make a move. Fiona would probably send people to search for the escaped Hero and that might mean they’d stumble upon the cottage. 

The Wardens had spent the last hours exchanging jokes and sharing a comradery that Solana remembered from her days fighting the Blight. Oghren told her all about his child and she traded stories about Alise in return.The Wardens had teased each other, called each other names and poked fun at one another, but they’d laughed and smiled while doing it.

Now no one spoke. 

Nathaniel stepped slowly towards the cottage. It was sitting in a puddle of sunlight and there was no outward sign of anything amiss.   

Something crashed down behind the building. “Anders!” Carver’s voice. “Anders! I need your help!” 

Solana ran forward without thinking. Cullen was in there. He could be in danger. But Anders overtook her. “Carver! What is it?” 

He dashed around the cottage and Solana rounded the corner just in time to see him being slammed against the wall, the collar clamped around his neck. 

Anders’s mouth formed an “O” of surprise. Solana pointed the staff at Carver’s chest, but he’d drawn his sword and, though he held it in his left hand, he held it steady, pointing at her stomach. 

Nathaniel skid to a halt beside her. “What in the Maker’s name!” 

“He’s working with her. They both are.” Carver said.


	38. Into line

The Wardens stood around the small wooden table in the main room. Anders slouched forward on a stool, as if the collar had a much greater physical weight than Solana knew it to have. “I’m not working with Fiona. I’m the one trying to stop her.”

“But you helped her with her experiments at Skyhold! You knew what she was doing. You’ve known what she’s been doing all along! I didn’t need to-” Carver paced, gripping his hair at the roots. “It was all for nothing.” 

“I did not know what she was doing. I still don’t.”

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” He waved an arm in Solana’s general direction. “She’s curing Wardens. Does what it says on the tin, doesn’t it?” 

Solana stiffened. She was seated in the chair opposite Anders. No one had slapped a collar on her, but she was very aware of the number of unsheathed weapons in the room. 

“Please calm down,” Nathaniel said. 

Carver rounded on him. “Didn’t you hear what I said? She was using  _ Tevinter  _ magic.” 

“Enough!” Nathaniel slammed a hand down in the middle of the table and Solana jumped. 

Carver ducked his chin and muttered, “I never thought I’d agree with Hawke about anything.”

Nathaniel glared at him, but when he spoke it was to Anders. “Anything else you’d like to share with us?” 

“Nothing at present.” 

“I helped you willingly, Anders,” Nathaniel growled. “I’ve been taking your orders and I’ve given you the use of my men. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“This doesn’t change anything,” Anders said.

“It changes everything!” Carver cut in. “You started this! She started this! It’s not a mage who’s gone mental, it’s the whole lot of you.” 

“Oy!” Oghren spoke for the first time. “Careful, boy.”

“Don’t call me boy.” 

Oghren unsheathed his sword and glowered at Carver. “You take back what you said about Solana.” 

“You can’t be serious?”

“Take it back!”

“Stop!” Anders stood. A flash of blue travelled along his skin. He looked down at Nathaniel and his eyes were bright cerulean. When he spoke, his words seemed to echo. “Remove this foul contraption and cease this petty bickering.”

Oghren’s mouth dropped open. Everybody stared. Velanna drifted closer to him. “Justice?” 

He turned his bright gaze on her. He blinked and his gaze  _ softened _ somehow. “Anders and I are one. This is not the first time we are seeing each other again.” 

But it was clear, looking at the faces around the table, that it felt like it was. It was the strangest thing, the way their expressions lit up to see Anders like this, as if seeing an old friend and not a terrifying force of nature. Oghren put his sword down on the table and chuckled. Nathaniel  _ smiled _ . 

Justice sighed. “Please remove this…” He waved at his neck. “It is most uncomfortable.”

Nathaniel patted Justice on the back and pulled a leather toolkit from his belt. “Perhaps you will answer us more plainly than your host,” he said as he got to work on the lock. 

“You’re just going to let him go?” Carver asked, voicing some of the amazement Solana felt. 

“What is it you still wish to know?” Justice asked Nathaniel, ignoring Carver. 

“Has Anders been working with Fiona?”

“It is not quite so simple. A young mage named Celeste wrote to Anders begging him to join her at Skyhold and assist in finding a cure for the Hero. He refused at first, but when he learned she was with child, he was driven to lend his aid. They worked alongside Fiona to discover a cure for the blight, it is true. But  _ they _ did not find one.”

He looked pointedly at Solana and she stayed still, hoping the others didn’t notice. 

Nathaniel’s attention was focused on the lock. “Blood magic?” 

“No,” Justice answered without a second’s hesitation. “Aside from any mortal laws you may have attached to such practices, it would be an exceedingly dangerous enterprise for me. I have no desire to cross that particular line again.” 

“What line?” Carver demanded.

Justice moved his haunting eyes to the younger Hawke. “I have become intoxicated with purpose in the past. First, when I was initially joined with Anders. When I…” He looked around the table, “...abandoned you all, to flee to Kirkwall. Anders cannot recall much of what happened in those early days. It was… unpleasant. There were Templars who tried to prevent our passage. The second time… I believe they are calling it the Kirkwall Rebellion.”

“So what was it if not blood magic?” Carver asked. 

“Experiments.”

“Whose blood did you take?” Carver’s voice was a little less steady on this question. 

“A gentleman by the name of Raleigh Samson was the main contributor beside Solana herself.” When no one reacted to the name, Justice added, “He was the head of Corypheus’s army. Corrupted by Red Lyrium. And a willing subject. For the most part.” 

“So you didn’t… You didn’t keep prisoners.”

“No, we did not do as Fiona’s mages did to you, Carver.” 

The collar clicked, and Nathaniel was able to remove it easily. No horrific burns to deal with here. 

“I have a question,” Nathaniel said. “What’s your true motive here? And don’t say Justice.” 

Justice gave him a bemused look, rubbing Anders’s neck. “Are you certain you would not rather ask Anders, in that case? I believe he has a speech prepared.” 

It was difficult to know whether he was joking. Every word was delivered in monotone. But Nathaniel laughed. “I’m sure he does.” 

Justice put a hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder. “I wish to help prevent harm. To continue my mission as a Grey Warden. I promise you that I am not in cahoots with this Fiona. Will you accept my word?”

Surprisingly, Nathaniel looked to Carver. 

Carver stared at the table, at his feet. Finally, he nodded. 

Nathaniel sighed. “I suppose you need to bring Anders back?” 

“He will be distressed to learn you prefer my company.”

Another joke? Nathaniel patted Anders’s shoulder again. “It’s nothing he does not already know.” 

Justice was still a moment. Then Anders flew to his feet, making everyone jump. 

“What happened? What did I do?”

The Wardens laughed, but Solana could see the pure terror on his face. 

“It’s alright, Anders. Justice didn’t do anything but talk,” she assured him.  

His hands were shaking as he sat again. “I tried to hold him back. I tried so hard.” 

Nathaniel squeezed his arm, the laughter died out. “All is well. Justice knows he is among friends.” 

“Friends…” Anders repeated, as if the word was alien, although he was probably still trying to work out what Justice might have said. 

* * *

 

Cullen was asleep when Solana went in to check on him. In the rich hued rays of the late afternoon, he was inordinately beautiful. His breathing was even now, and his skin had lost that sickly pallor. Even sleeping he seemed so strong, like a mythical hero carved from dragon bone. She’d thought nothing could shake him. She’d thought his military training and inner discipline had given him the ability to withstand everything - Alise’s illness, the incident in the Fade at the Tower, catching Solana in the midst of that ritual, seeing her die and brought back to life. He had been angry, yes. And of course he had been hurt… but she hadn’t thought for an instant that it had all affected him so deeply. She’d thought she could paper over it all with shared breakfasts and small talk. And then when he’d admitted to distrust, she’d left him. She’d let her own rage and despair carry her away. She had assumed he would be fine, that he’d turn to his work and go back to how things were before she’d arrived at Haven. 

She’d had it all wrong. 

There was a stool beside the bed where Anders had sat for most of the night nursing him. Now Solana sank down onto the stool and reached into her robes. Tucked in a small inner pocket beside her breast was the coin Cullen had given her the day they’d faced the Wardens at Adamant.

She’d thought she’d understood Cullen. He was the sturdy Templar, bound to order, if not  _ the _ Order. He was meticulous and strategic, more comfortable in a fight than at the dinner table with company. He thought any problem could be dealt with with either a book or a sword. Unshakable. Immovable. Stubborn. Jealous.

Now, looking at him while he slept, she realised she hardly knew him at all. She knew the man she’d imagined him to be as a teenager, and she’d fallen in love with other parts of him that she’d glimpsed in the months since they’d reunited. But that was barely the surface. She stroked his golden hair gently. Was it his fault for not speaking to her? Or, was it her fault for not listening?

His eyes opened and he smiled at the sight of her. The look made her stomach warm. She fumbled for something to say. She hadn’t meant to wake him. 

“I thought I heard shouting… was I dreaming?” His voice was lower than usual, but not as weak as it had been earlier. 

“Everything’s fine. You must rest.” 

“I spoke to Carver. He seemed upset.”

She leaned forward and kissed him, cutting off further questioning. 

He cleared his throat as she drew away. “Are you confronting Fiona tonight?” His gaze lingered on her lips. 

“They are.” Her heart beat faster. She hadn’t said anything to the Wardens yet.

“They?” he prompted, not missing her subtle emphasis. 

“I’m not leaving you again, Cullen.” She explored his face. “They can do this without the Hero. You need me.”

His brow furrowed and he lifted himself up, trying to sit. “Solana…”

“You said you didn’t want me to keep putting myself in danger. So I won’t. From now on, you’re all that matters.” She touched his cheek and looked into his eyes so he could see how serious she was. 

“Thank you,” he said, although he sounded confused. His gaze searched hers, but she wasn’t sure what he was looking for.

 

* * *

 

 

Solana volunteered to help Anders prepare dinner, and Carver declared that he would join them, no doubt to keep an eye on them. 

The kitchen led off the opposite side of the main room from the bedroom. It only had half a roof, and a pair of birds were tending to their nest in the corner. There were three bedrolls stretched out under the side with the roof, but there was also a functional stove and a narrow stone counter providing ample space for food preparation. 

Anders emptied out the supplies they’d nabbed earlier and Solana went to fetch water from the well out front. When she returned, Carver was standing at the counter chopping roots and mushrooms and Anders was stoking a fire. The air was thick with silence around them. 

She knelt beside Anders, pouring water into the pot they’d use for that night’s stew. He thanked her with a weak smile. 

“So, Justice seems to like these people,” she offered awkwardly. She wanted to reassure Anders that Justice hadn’t done anything terrible while he’d been in control. 

“He does,” Anders agreed. There was a long pause and Solana searched for something else to say. Then Anders added, “Which is why I’ve decided to stay with the Wardens.” 

“What?” Carver asked at the counter.

“You heard me. I think we can both agree it is the best place for me. Justice is satisfied, he has purpose. And the Chantry has no rights to me, no matter what happens with the Circles. Plus, I always did enjoy a little adventure. I might grow accustomed to dank underground corridors yet.”

“Nathaniel will never agree.”

“He already has, Carver. Said I could get a cat again, too.”

Carver stared at him, the meal momentarily forgotten. “What about Hawke?” 

Anders prodded the fire again. “Hawke will be fine.”

“He gave up everything for you, Anders. He lived on the run for you. You can’t just-”

“Just what? Set him free?” Anders snapped back. “You never approved of us. Or of me. Why the sudden interest, Carver?” 

Carver scowled. Then he pushed the vegetables away from himself decisively. “I’m going to check on Cullen.” 

When they were alone, Anders sighed. He stared at the fire, head hung low. “Let me tell you about Hawke,” he said softly. “When I met Hawke he was sleeping on the floor of a Lowtown hovel, in the corner of his uncle's room. He'd spent a year indentured to a mercenary and he was still spending every hour of every day working - menial labour, hired fighter, messenger. No job was beneath him. I've seen the scars that life left on him. I saw him when he was so gaunt that I could count his ribs through his robes. 

“And he could have left. After the Blight, he could have gone home. He could have lied his way through Starkhaven. He could have taken ship and ravaged the coasts of Rivain. He could have had anyone and anything he wanted. He was skillful enough, and clever enough, and he was certainly good looking enough. And the kind of magic he can cast... I've never seen its like. 

“But he never would. He stayed in Kirkwall. For his family at first. He gave everything to them, and he watched them leave or die, one by one. And then he stayed for me, and he gave everything to me. And by the Maker, Solana. If I had stayed at Skyhold, he would still be giving everything to me. He would never leave me. No matter how unhappy he was. No matter how many times I disappointed him. I had to be the one to leave.”

“Oh Anders…” She wanted to argue. She could recall a few tender moments between him and Hawke. But she had also seen the doubt. Hawke’s expression the day Anders arrived at Skyhold, Anders’s large sorrowful eyes watching Hawke when he returned from the Wilds.   

Instead of saying anything, she threw her arms around Anders’s neck and drew him into a hug. 

“I should point out that Justice is not fond of hugs,” he said. But he wrapped his arms around her too.  

 

* * *

 

The Wardens discussed the details of their attack plan while they ate. The keep was three levels - the dungeon, the ground floor and an upper floor where Fiona and the mages would be found. Carver had managed to learn more than just what Fiona was doing in his time there. He’d also learned much of the layout of that top floor. They’d find Fiona at the centre, in a circular room that had once been the base of the watchtower. 

“I’ve never been in there myself,” he warned. “But that’s where the mages come and go from.”

He’d drawn out a map and marked the two entrances. The Wardens would secure both and then Anders would confront Fiona. They didn’t have more details than that - as plans went it wasn’t very much - but Nathaniel seemed confident that they’d be able to control the situation when they were there. 

“Solana, you will be at this entrance. If things go badly with Anders-”

She jerked, splashing stew out of her bowl. She’d been dreading them mentioning her part in this. “Uh…”

“Something the matter?”

“I’m not… I’m not going to be there…” 

The Wardens stared at her. 

“Whatya mean you’re not gonna be there?” Oghren asked. 

A ball of cold guilt made her stomach churn. She set down her spoon carefully. “I need to stay here. With Cullen.”

Nathaniel shook his head. “Carver will stay with your Templar. You need not concern yourself with his well being.” 

“I know.” It had been clear from the start that Carver would not be joining them in the keep with his broken sword arm. “But it’s not about that. It’s… I’ve put him through enough.”

Anders shook his head. “I don’t understand. You came all the way here for those phylacteries.”

“I know. But my priorities have... shifted.”

“You're not pregnant again?”

“No! At least, not that I know of.” She felt colour rising to her cheeks as memories of her and Cullen’s night together in the woods came back to her. She cleared her throat. “Not now, but maybe one day. I owe it to Cullen to put him and our family first for once. You’re Grey Wardens. You have Justice on your side. You don’t need me. He does.” 

“No.” 

She turned at the unexpected sound of Cullen’s voice. He stood in the doorway of the bedroom, still shirtless and leaning heavily on the doorframe. “Solana, you should go. You're the Hero of Ferelden. Ferelden's mages need you. I'll not hold you back.”

“I'm not the Hero anymore.”

He moved unsteadily into the room, one slow step at a time. She went forward to help him, but he held a hand out to stop her. “Yes. You are. You've always been the Hero, Solana. As long as I've known you. It's in your nature to help, to defend the weak." He offered her an unsteady smile. “Even when you were merely offering your breakfast to a browbeaten young Templar. You can't stop being that woman simply because you are married to me.”

Nathaniel moved away from the table. “I hate to interrupt but sun's down. We need to go.” With a tilt of his head, the Wardens started moving towards the door.

Solana kept her attention on Cullen until Nathaniel prompted, “Solana? Your choice, but you have to make it now.”

Cullen nodded his encouragement. 

“I'm coming,” she said, but she moved closer to Cullen, taking his hand. “What you said, about me being the sun…”

“You  _ are _ the sun.” He brushed hair from her forehead, gazing at her face. “You are the sun, but my error was thinking I needed to hold you still to love you. Go. Save Thedas. I will be here when you return.” 

Carver groaned. “I think I’m going to be sick.” 

Solana grinned and pulled away from Cullen, still squeezing his hand. “Alright. I'll try to be careful.”

He returned her smile. “Yes. Please. I have no desire to return home without you.”

 

***

 

The ancient Warden keep was colder than Solana remembered. She had been so frightened for Cullen before that she hadn’t noticed the temperature, but as they crept through the corridors now she found herself clenching her teeth. Or perhaps the coldness was inside her. Dread. Dread had always felt icy cold. It reminded her of those days in the ruins beneath the Brecilian Forest, before she’d become hard. 

Nathaniel proved an excellent shot with the bow after all. Twice, he took out Warden patrols with poisoned darts to the neck before they even noticed anything was amiss. Perhaps there was truth to his claim that he hadn’t been aiming to kill her that day in the forest. Velanna cast a spell to muffle the sound of their footsteps and they managed to make it to the top floor without any direct confrontation. 

“Time to split up,” Nathaniel said as they exited the stairwell. “Solana, you’re with me.” 

That surprised her. She’d assumed he’d want to be with Velanna and she’d be partnered with Oghren and Anders, but she didn’t challenge him.

The others split off and the two of them started down the curved corridor to the nearer of the two tower entrances. Solana ran through spells in her mind, hoping that she wouldn’t have to use them. She didn’t want to fight Fiona any more than she’d wanted to fight Anders. When she thought of Fiona, she thought of delicate hands and how hard they’d gripped hers in the Fade, she thought of that concerned face hovering over hers in the cart up to Skyhold. 

She thought of Alistair. The last enduring part of him.

Nathaniel caught her wrist and whipped her around so fast that her head cracked against the wall before she’d even realised he was pressing her to it. She bit down on her tongue to suppress an instinctual yelp.

“What in the-”

He bore down on her like she’d seen him do with Camille. “Now we’re alone, you have some explaining to do.” 

Her pulse started racing. She’d let down her guard. She shouldn’t have. He was still the man who’d held that pillow over her face. 

“About what?” She jutted out her chin, but there was nothing defiant in the wisp of a voice that emanated from her throat. 

His eyes raked over her. “Let’s start with how you cured yourself. Justice said Fiona didn’t find a cure. But you clearly did.” 

“My child-”

“Save it.” He glanced over his shoulder. His fingers dug into her wrist. “Tell me how.”

She didn’t have to fear him. She had her powers now. She could force him to let go. She knew this and still her heart beat faster with remembered fear. She couldn’t find her voice.

“I have a theory,” he said. “You want to hear my theory? This is what I think. Fiona was the only Warden to ever be cured of the Taint. Until now.” His voice was so incredibly deep. “She cured you, didn’t she? What did she ask in return? Did she ask for Grey Wardens?” 

_ What? _ “You think I’m working for her? She put me in that collar!” 

“Maybe you betrayed her. Maybe you’re trying to win her favour again. Or maybe… maybe this  _ is _ about your child. You want her to cure the baby. That’s why you came out here. You weren’t looking for the phylacteries at all.” He laughed as if everything had just clicked into place for him. His explanation sounded so logical it terrified her. In her mind’s eye she saw an alternative Solana, one who hadn’t made the deal with the demon, one who had never been to Kinloch. Would she have followed Fiona here? 

_ Dark like your father… _

“Your theory’s wrong.”

“Then tell me the truth. And make it convincing.”

If he was this angry already, what would he do when he learned that truth? 

His gaze was hard, his jaw set and there was a fierceness to him that she’d last seen when she’d fought the werewolves. 

“It wasn’t to do with Fiona. Or Anders. It was just me. An insane risk that paid off.”

Nathaniel sneered. Something burned on the back of the hand he was holding. She hissed and tugged it free. Tiny droplets of ruby blood pressed up from what looked like a scratch.

He held up a small knife coated in a thin film of black liquid. 

“Quiet Death. Because  _ I _ prefer to avoid insane risks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we're coming up on the end now!


	39. Enchanters

Solana stared at the blood welling up from the tiny cut on her hand. It was so shallow that even she could heal it, but she knew the damage was already done. Quiet Death was a poison. An incredibly potent poison. 

Nathaniel wiped the blade on his shirt and tucked it into his belt. “Let me explain. I’ve diluted this concoction in deepstalker bile which means it will take some time to reach your heart. When it does, your legs will start to feel weak. Your throat will close up. Then your mind will tear itself apart.”

Solana tried to slow her breathing, even as panic threatened to take over. Her speeding heart would only make the poison travel faster.  “Was this your plan all along? To finally do away with me as soon as I let down my guard?”

“You were never a part of my  _ plan _ . My plan was to go in there and get my men out. I appreciate that Oghren cares about you, and Anders does too - although I can’t imagine why considering you came here intent on murdering him.”

Nathaniel was one to talk of murder. Her knees felt wobbly. Was the poison already taking effect? Or was it fear? 

“This is merely insurance.” Nathaniel unslung his bow. “There is an antidote. You’ll get it when my men and I make it out of there alive.” 

Rage blinded her and she drove her shoulder into his chest. Her arm moved to strike him, but he caught her wrist again. “Now now, we’re wasting valuable time.”

“You bastard.” 

“There was a theory.” He dropped her wrist. “But that’s neither here nor there. Come along.”

Solana followed Nathaniel the rest of the way down the corridor, feeling less like a hero and more like a puppy dog. Even while she focused on staying calm, anger burned in her chest and it was all she could do to stop herself from casting painful magic at his back. Something that hurt but didn’t kill him. Would setting him on fire again be viable? 

In any other situation, probably. But here, where they were surrounded by enemies, drawing attention with his screams would not be the best idea. 

He signalled for her to stand back and pressed himself against the wall. Two Wardens rounded the corner. He took out the one with a dart. Solana threw a Winter’s Grasp spell at the other. 

Nathaniel  _ smiled _ at her, and nodded. _ Good dog.  _ She gripped her staff so tightly that if it had not been metal it may well have snapped. 

Another two Wardens guarded the entrance to the tower, and she and Nathaniel repeated the routine. They went down without a sound.

One way or another, this would all be over soon.

 

Solana expected to find a large room beyond, but instead, the door opened into a dark antechamber. The walls were lined with shelves. On the one side they were filled with books, on the other side, vials. It was almost like stepping through a portal to that room in Skyhold’s depths, but not quite. Instead of a table at the end of the room, there was a workbench set up beside the wall. The room’s only light source, a glowstone, cast eerie blue light over the bench. Solana didn’t see the figure working there until it moved. It spun around in a whirl of dark mage robes. Solana cast Winter’s Grasp at it, but her spell crashed into a barrier.

“Solana!” 

The mage’s hood fell from its head, revealing long blonde hair. 

“Celeste?”  _ No! No no no no.  _ “You’re working for Fiona?!” 

Celeste showed none of the alarm Solana expected. “So you know it’s Fiona. Good.” 

Nathaniel nocked an arrow. “Celeste? The woman who summoned Anders to Skyhold?” He aimed at her chest. “The mastermind behind Fiona’s experiments?” 

Celeste held up her hands in a gesture of surrender, and her barrier disintegrated into shards of glittering magic. “I’m here to help you.” 

“Bullshit!” Nathaniel’s arrow flew. 

A dark shape barrelled into Celeste from her left. The arrow whizzed past her and smashed into the apparatus behind her. 

The shape drew a sword that shone with its own red light, the familiar glow of Red Lyrium. It highlighted the features of Raleigh Samson. 

_ He  _ must have done this. He must have betrayed the Inquisition and brought her here.? Samson rushed Nathaniel as he nocked another arrow. 

“No!” Solana cast ice at Samson. If Nathaniel died, she did too. 

But her spell glanced off another barrier. Nathaniel dodged out of Samson’s way and pulled out the poisoned dagger.

“Stop!” Celeste pulled herself to her feet, using the workbench for support. Scarlet glinted on her neck. Nathaniel hadn’t missed her by much at all. 

Samson froze, with his glowing sword pointed at Nathaniel’s stomach. Nathaniel sneered, chest rising and falling rapidly. 

Celeste looked into the shadowed corner of the room where Samson must have been hiding. “Leliana sent me here to help you. You’ve been following a map, right? A star map. I wrote that map. Fiona was calling to me, and others from the rebellion, in our dreams.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Solana demanded. 

“I…” Her gaze dropped to her feet.

“Well she didn’t know if she could trust you, did she?” Samson asked. 

“And she trusts _ you _ ?” 

“Matter of fact she does.” He stood up a little straighter, but he looked to Celeste as if for confirmation. 

“And you’re what, now? Her private guard?” 

“Something like that. I told Fiona I’d submit to more of her tests, willingly, long as Celeste is the one to work with me. She knew you’d arrive sooner or later.”

Celeste dabbed at her neck with her sleeve and winced. “How much do you know of what she’s doing?” 

Solana lowered her staff. “We know she’s promising to cure Wardens, and that she has members of the rebellion working for her.”

Nathaniel growled. “That’s it? You trust this woman now?”

“I trust her more than I trust you,” Solana shot back. 

“That’s not saying very much.”

Besides, she didn’t have the luxury of time to decide. She had to go with her instincts and her instincts were that this was her friend. The woman who’d cared for her and her baby, who’d stayed with her and comforted her when Cullen had left, and when she’d left him. 

“Does she plan to cure them the same way I did?” Solana asked. 

Celeste fidgeted. “Yes. Unless I find an alternative.”

“An alternative? By torturing the Wardens?” Nathaniel demanded. 

“No!” Celeste blanched. She was still wringing her hands. “No, that has nothing to do with curing them.” 

“What, then?” 

“It will be easier if I show you.” Celeste gestured to the bookshelves as if requesting permission to fetch something. Solana nodded. 

She drew out a loosely bound tome consisting of a variety of parchments and papers. “When Fiona was indentured to that magister, she was tasked with trying to cure his son of the wasting illness - the Blight. He had a gigantic library. He’d paid good coin to have every scrap of material on the Blight delivered to him, including these documents. At first, Fiona ignored them because they talk about making the Blight stronger, which is obviously not what she wanted. But, well, see for yourself.”

She passed them to Solana.

She was going to refuse - she didn’t have time for  _ reading  _ now - but the sentences scrawled across the top of the first page caught her eye. 

_ Blood magic comes from demons; they could counter every bit of lore I possess. But the darkspawn taint, that is alien to them. And it has power. _

“What is this? Where is it from?” The words echoed her own discovery.

“Apparently it was found in the ruins of an old Warden fortress called Soldier’s Peak when Corypheus claimed it as a base.” 

The name made Solana’s stomach jerk. There’d been a man once who had begged her to journey there. Something about a family legacy. She hadn’t had the time or the resources. 

“When you discovered that demons and the Blight stand in opposition to each other, it jogged her memory. This tome may not have offered a cure for the Blight, but it offered something that she needed just as much.”

Solana flipped through the pages hurriedly. 

_ There must be some way to refine the Joining. Isolate the true power that is found in darkspawn blood, and leave behind the evil that kills us. _

“She’s trying to enhance the Taint? Why?”

Celeste gestured to the shadowy corner with her head. Solana could see a door there now. It must have led into the tower base. “Come talk to her. I’m certain you’ll be able to reason with her.” 

Solana was still struggling to make sense of all this, but she was acutely aware of the limited time she had available do so. And if they could sort this out peacefully? It was worth giving it a try. 

“Stay here with Samson,” Solana instructed Nathaniel. “It will probably be best if I go alone.” 

“Not happening.” He slung his bow over his shoulder.

 

***

 

From Carver’s description, Solana had expected the room at the tower base to be open to the sky, surrounded by jagged, broken, walls. But it was more like a gigantic, glowstone-lit version of Cullen’s office. There were many desks and most of them were piled with books. The upper floor was a mezzanine and, where Cullen’s office had a ladder, this room had a staircase up against the far wall. Mages were drifting between the tables and a few stopped to stare as Celeste guided Solana to the staircase. Nathaniel trailed behind her and it was his gasp that alerted her to the cages. Along the far wall, tucked under the mezzanine, was a row of metal cages - the type she would have expected to see in Tevinter. Celeste averted her eyes from the emaciated prisoners as they mounted the stairs.

“Are those Wardens?” Nathaniel hissed.

“No. Mages.”

Solana’s arms shook and her stomach roiled. Poison or disgust? It could easily have been both.  

The upper level was even worse. Individual cages, like the ones Solana had seen used for deserters at Ostagar, formed a thin corridor that they had to walk through. The prisoners stared straight ahead, as if in a stupor. Around each of their necks was a collar like the one the Wardens had put on Solana. At the far end, a figure leaned over a desk. 

“Deuter, I will need more elfroot,” it spoke in an Orlesian accent. 

_ Fiona.   _

“It’s not Deuter,” Celeste said. 

Fiona straightened and turned. She looked like she was about to say something, but she spotted Solana and paused. Solana could practically see her thoughts changing track. 

“You’ve returned. Good. After what you did to those Wardens, I wasn’t sure you would.” 

Solana could feel Nathaniel’s disapproval. He hadn’t seen the bodies, just the blood. 

“What  _ I  _ did? You put me in a Qunari collar!” She waved the book at her. “What in the Void is this?” She flung out her arm to encompass the cages. “And all of this?”

_ So much for calm.  _

Fiona held her hands spread flat in front of her chest. “The collar was a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding!” 

“I know what you are capable of. I merely wanted to suppress your abilities until I had a chance to explain to you-”

“Suppress my abilities? Cullen almost died!”

“I had no way of knowing he was using lyrium again.” She reached behind her and Solana gripped her staff, ready for a fight, but Fiona held out a vial of lyrium to her. “Peace offering?”

She didn’t want to accept it, but it would take Cullen much longer to heal stuck with only mage grade. She snatched it from Fiona and shoved it into a pocket. 

“What did you want to explain, then? Why you’re torturing people? Why you’re enhancing the Taint?” 

Fiona seemed to notice the tome Solana was still clutching. “I understand how this must seem, but believe me I do not mean any harm.” 

“You tortured Carver Hawke!” 

“He  _ volunteered _ . They all volunteered.” She took the book and flipped until she found a particular page. Then she handed it back to Solana.

_ The subject is not responding to the stimuli. Testing the pain threshold uncovered nothing. Only three subjects are left.  _

_ Day 82. If only I could reproduce last night's extraordinary success. Electricity is only a catalyst. The blood is the key.  _

_ Day 97. Energy and blood. Repeated applications have duplicated the results. I conjecture that success can be induced alchemically. But there are no more subjects left. If only I had one more. Or a dozen. The things I could do.  _

“Avernus was a Grey Warden Mage during the Storm Age,” Fiona said. “He believed that he could enhance the Taint to the point where it became a weapon against demons, but resulted in no Calling. He came very close, but he ran out of test subjects.”

The thought sickened Solana. _ Test subjects _ . As if they weren’t people who’d been tortured to death. “Why would you want to enhance the Taint?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Fiona’s large eyes stared into hers and Solana saw Alistair there. She didn’t want to. “If mages are immune to demon possession, there is no reason to keep them imprisoned in Circles.”

This _ was _ about the new Divine, but not at all in the way that Leliana had thought. “You’re creating an inoculation against possession?” 

Fiona inclined her head. “And it’s thanks to you. Imagine, Solana, if we could ensure that no mage was ever possessed again? The Joining as it is now is too dangerous, of course. But if we remove the danger-” 

“No.” Solana shook her head. The room spun. She reached out to grab one of the cages to support herself. Fiona had lured these Wardens here with promise of a cure, but in order to obtain that cure they’d have to suffer torture, maybe even die. If they were lucky, Celeste would find another cure. If not, they’d become demon vessels as their reward. She wanted to be sick. “No. The price is too high.”

“Wardens are fated to die, you and I both know that. From the moment they take the Joining. Yes, I needed Wardens to continue the research, but these Wardens came willingly. They were willing to give  _ anything _ for the chance at a cure.”

An arrow flew over Solana’s shoulder. Fiona threw up a barrier just in time. Nathaniel cried out and launched himself at her. The poisoned dagger flashed, but he was no match for the First Enchanter. She flung a spell at him, too fast for Solana to protect him. It hit him in the stomach and he doubled over. “What have you done with Raoul?” he panted. 

“Deuter!” Fiona called. 

Nathaniel roared and hurled himself at her again. She waved an arm and when he slammed to the ground. He was no longer Nathaniel, but a statue cast from stone, with face frozen in rage. 

Fiona stood panting and no one moved. A young mage rushed up the stairs behind them.

“Deuter, take this Warden downstairs and put him with the others. Samson, help him.” 

Samson looked to Celeste.

“Nathaniel didn’t volunteer,” she said. 

Fiona waved that off as if it was a technicality. “He’ll be relieved to see young Raoul again no doubt.” 

Solana clenched her fists. “This isn’t the way, Fiona. This isn’t the way to save the mages.”

“Then what is, pray tell? Hoping for a Divine who will not go to war with our kind? I’m done with hoping, Solana.”

Fiona brushed past her, stepping neatly around the frozen Nathaniel. “You came here for the phylacteries, I imagine?” 

Deuter tugged on Nathaniel’s arm, trying unsuccessfully to move him. 

Celeste took Samson’s hand. “You’d better help. If he knocks him over, he might shatter.”

_ What?  _

Their hands were clasped in an easy familiar way that only had one explanation. 

With a sigh, Samson went to help Deuter, and Celeste turned to join Solana. Her cheeks brightened. 

“This way!” Fiona called. 

Solana wanted to ask Celeste about Samson, but she didn’t get the chance. They were halfway down the stairs when a door at the far end of the room burst open and Anders, Velanna and Oghren flew through in a burst of magic. 

Oghren spun and threw an axe at whatever was through the door behind them, then he took the second axe from his side and turned to face any further challengers. Velanna scanned the room for her husband and then, finally, spotted the stone figure being brought down the stairs behind Solana and Celeste. She scowled and raised her staff to cast. Anders held out a hand to halt her. 

“Hello, Fiona. We have some catching up to do.” 

Fiona continued down the stairs without so much as pausing. “Anders. I was wondering when you’d show yourself. Or is it Justice, now?” 

“Oh, believe me, if it was Justice you would know. Where are the phylacteries?” 

“I was just taking Solana to see them. Would you and your friends care to join us?” 

Velanna said something too softly for Solana to hear. Anders shook his head. “I saw the mages, in the other room. The magister’s influence, no doubt. Did you love the idea of slavery so much you had to have your own?” 

“What’s in the other room?” Solana asked. 

Anders appeared to notice her for the first time. His gaze slid to Celeste standing beside her. “Well, this is unexpected.” 

“I don’t keep slaves,” Fiona insisted. 

“What’s in that room?” Celeste echoed Solana’s question. Solana was relieved that she didn’t know. 

“The worst fate you can imagine,” Anders said. “Watched over by blighted thralls. Literally, I think. Warden senses and all that.” 

“What does he mean?” Celeste asked. Solana thought she might understand, but it was Samson who answered her.

“Well, she’s gotta do something with the failed experiments, don’t she? She’s been trying her enhanced Blight or whatever on the fuckers and if it doesn’t go according to plan, she locks them up. Can’t have the rest of the mages seeing that, might put them off _ volunteering _ . Isn’t that right?”

Celeste’s hand flew to her mouth. Solana couldn’t see Fiona’s face so she couldn’t gauge her reaction. The room was silent. 

“Take the phylacteries and go, Anders. I have no quarrel with you.”

Anders shook his head. “I’m a Grey Warden.”


	40. Some may live and some may die

Fiona continued down the stairs towards Anders. “You misunderstand what we are doing here. I am saving the mages. I’ve found a way. They’ll never put us in Circles again.” 

He lowered his staff a little. 

“As Solana discovered, demons and the Blight are natural enemies. Ordinary Grey Wardens can be possessed, but we can change that. We can change the Joining, change the Taint. Make it more potent while removing the poison that shortens our years.”

“You want to make all mages take the Joining?”

“Not the Joining that you and I took, no. An  _ improved  _ Joining.”

“You’d infect every mage with the Blight?”

“A version of it. Don’t you see, Anders? This is what it’s all been for. Everything we have lived through, it was leading to this.”

“No,” Solana said. She knew enough of Fiona’s history to gather exactly what she meant. She meant being possessed, being cured and having Alistair. She meant losing Alistair to the Blight and to the Wardens, which is what had pushed her further into her research. She meant taking up the cause of the mages, starting the rebellion. She meant Alistair dying so that Solana would end up with Cullen, end up pregnant and desperate. She meant working with Celeste in the bowels of Skyhold, running experiments on Samson. She meant meeting Solana. She meant being present when Solana discovered the cure. 

Fiona turned to look at her.

“Alistair would never, ever have allowed this. Don’t imply he existed so that we could be here today, that he was some pawn in the Maker’s plans. He was more than that.”

“Do you think that Alistair would approve of what  _ you  _ did?” 

She shook her head. He definitely wouldn’t have. Cullen hadn’t either. “I care about the mages, I care about what you’re trying to do here. But this is not the way. Creating monsters, holding them with blood magic and torturing volunteers? Keeping people in cages? Using Qunari collars? This is not the way. This has to stop.”

Fiona sighed. “I thought you might say something like that. I hoped I could convince you otherwise, but alas.” She waved a hand. 

Solana knew what was coming. She dived aside, launching herself off the stairs as the magic came at her. She hit one of the tables and rolled, scattering pages, knocking over vials, but she landed on her feet before a startled mage. Solana froze him in place and whipped around to throw a spell at Fiona. Deuter was now stone. He’d been hit by the spell intended for her. Fiona was no longer on the stairs and sounds of battle came from where Anders had been standing, but there was a bookshelf in the way and Solana couldn’t see them.

“Find the phylacteries!” Solana shouted to Celeste. 

Celeste nodded and hurried down the stairs. Samson followed her, leaving the two statues where they were. Solana ran between the desks and ducked behind the shelves, freezing every mage she saw. She swung around a shelf to find Fiona and Anders facing off. No. Fiona and _Justice_. Anders’s eyes glowed blue and his skin looked like cracked earth above molten lava, only in this case the lava was blue. This was the being who had protected her from the bear that night. Velanna fought beside him. Fiona had a cluster of mages at her side, throwing an unrelenting barrage of spells at the Wardens. 

Solana’s blood pumped hot and she lifted her staff to join the fight when her legs gave in. She landed hard on the stone ground, sending a jolt of pain up from her knees.

_ No! The poison! _

She tried to pull herself up on one of the bookshelves. She didn’t know how to free Nathaniel. But one of the other mages trapped here might. She moved back behind the shelf, relying on her arms more than her legs, and pulled herself along the desks towards the cages where the mage prisoners stood at the bars peering at the action, or huddled at the back in fright. 

“Stand clear!” she shouted. 

The ones at the front shuffled backwards. Oh Maker, this could go horribly wrong. She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer, then sent a Stonefist at the bars. It slammed into them and shattered. It hadn’t broken them, but the cage was old and it  _ had _ managed to bend them. 

She cast again. And again. 

As the third fist smashed into the bars, they gave way. The mages scrambled out, but only then did Solana see the collars.

_ No! _

She needed Nathaniel to pick the locks, so that they could cast the magic to free him.

The mages looked to Solana for guidance. 

“Stop Fiona,” she instructed. “Distract her, or something.” 

The mages ran to follow her instruction, vague as it was. She wasn’t proving to be much of a leader, but it was all she could do to stand. 

Bright green light flew over the shelves and slammed into Deuter. He became flesh once more and fell to his knees, gasping. 

“Shatter him!” Fiona yelled. 

It took Deuter a second to realise what she meant, then he leapt to his feet and pushed Nathaniel.

“No!” 

Solana caught the statue with her magic, but it was heavy. Heavier than the water Celeste had accidentally gathered that day in Haven, and her muscles were weakening. She couldn’t hold him. She couldn’t…

The weight lifted. 

Solana whirled to find Velanna standing behind her, arms out and an intense look of focus on her face. But just past her shoulder, one of the frozen mages was thawing. He pulled his staff hand free and aimed at Velanna. Solana cast ice at him again, but the spell was so weak that it only encapsulated the arm. She tried to reach for more mana and found she couldn’t. There was nothing left.

Sweat broke out on Velanna’s forehead as she tried to bear the weight of her husband alone. Her every muscle strained. She couldn’t hold him for much longer. Solana needed to help. She needed… lyrium.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the vial Fiona had given her for Cullen. It was so much stronger than anything she’d taken before, but it would have to do. At this rate she wasn’t going to live long enough to see the consequences. 

She twisted the cap open and took the tiniest sip. It was vile. It burned her mouth and her throat and sent her coughing. But there was power there. Oh, there was power. Colours sparked behind her eyes and her veins hummed. 

So this was what the real stuff felt like. The stuff they’d never give to mages. 

And now she knew why. She reached up a single hand and took Nathaniel into her grasp. She even managed to set him on his feet again. 

The shelf to her right exploded in a mess of paper and splinters and she flew backwards into one of the desks. Her ears rang. Bits of books smoldered on the ground. Through the smoke, she could make out figures moving, dusty silver and blue armour. Wardens. But not  _ her  _ Wardens. Fiona’s Wardens. Someone had thrown a Combustion Grenade.

Justice was a blue beacon, casting spell after spell in every direction. Samson was in the mess too, swinging his Red Lyrium sword. Other than that, it just seemed like bodies clashing into bodies. Solana sucked in air, wondering where to strike. She couldn’t see Fiona, but she wanted to do something useful while the lyrium was still in her system. 

While she could still move. 

Hands grabbed her and pulled her aside as a slash of orange light hit the space where she’d been lying, courtesy of one of the thawed mages.

An arcane bolt flew over her shoulder and hit the mage in the stomach. Velanna tried to help her to her feet, but Solana couldn’t get her legs under her. 

“Are you injured?” Velanna asked.

“Quiet Death.”

The ground trembled beneath them and Solana missed Velanna’s reaction, if there was one. 

“Here, Solana!” Fiona’s voice called. 

Solana snapped her head in its direction. Fiona stood beneath the stairs, her hand on a lever. The floor rumbled again and Velanna scrambled up, pulling Solana’s arm. The ground split, a great dark rectangle grew just inches from where they were. Solana tried to push herself up, but it was useless. Her legs were useless. 

“Go!” she told Velanna, but the elf didn’t let go. As the floor disappeared beneath Solana, they both tumbled into the darkness.

 

It wasn’t a far fall, thankfully. Perhaps a metre. Solana landed like a sack of potatoes and Velanna came down on top of her. She may have hurt her legs, but she realised with a start that she couldn’t feel them at all now. Velanna rolled off her and groaned. They were in a space beneath the tower room and the glow stones from above cast dim blue light on stacks and stacks of tiny bottles. 

The phylacteries. 

Fiona walked down a small staircase - the more dignified entrance. “You came for the phylacteries, here they are.”

Solana didn’t know what she expected her to do with them. The clashes and shouts of battle still sounded from above.

“Unfreeze Nathaniel!” Velanna demanded. 

Fiona didn’t so much as look at her. She brushed her fingers along the rows. A Qunari collar glinted in her other hand. “Didn’t it ever bother you that the Chantry uses blood magic to trace its mages? Of course, they tell us that it is for our own good, it is just a leash to make certain lost mages can be brought home. But this is not all the phylactery can do. For instance, it allows me to enter the dreams of any mage I choose, provided I have enough blood to power the spell.”

Solana swallowed. Her mouth was dry and tasted foul from the lyrium. “Enough blood? You’re a maleficar now?”

“You are one to lecture me. You summoned a demon into a baby.”

“That’s not the same!”

A silence had fallen and Fiona smiled and nodded at something above Solana’s head. She looked up. Gathered around them on the upper level stood Fiona's Grey Wardens, and they had prisoners. Anders was slumped, unconscious. Another was holding Oghren in a choke hold. He looked directly down at Solana, betrayal written across his face. There were others too. The prisoner mages, a few battered and burned bodies that she had to assume were the twisted experiments gone wrong. 

“This here is the Hero of Ferelden,” Fiona said. “We owe her our thanks. Had she not discovered the connection between the Blight and demons, we would not be here. She bravely took her own child to a place where the Veil was weak and summoned a demon into it in hopes of curing it. And she succeeded. And now we know there is a cure, none of us need carry the Taint. And those of us who suffer the attentions of demons need never suffer them again. But we must ask you, Hero, that you help us one final time. Allow us to study you, allow us to examine your cured blood.” She tossed the collar to Solana. It landed with a clang on the stone beside her useless legs.

Fiona wanted to do to her what she’d done to Carver. She’d wanted that all along. That’s why Solana had been captured and put in the collar like the other prisoners. And Fiona had kept her far away from them to make sure she never found out her fate.  

“Never.” Solana tried again to stand, managing only to get to her knees. “I’d rather die than help you with this this  _ abuse _ .” 

“Oh, Solana. I’m aware you see no value in your own life.” Fiona plucked a phylactery off the shelf. She reached into her robes and drew out another, larger, vial. Something dark and red oozed within and Solana’s stomach dropped. Blood. 

She gathered her mana, what little she still had, and she flung it at that vial. But she should have guessed. Her magic bounced harmlessly against a barrier. 

Fiona didn’t even seem to notice as she poured the liquid from the phylactery into the vial. She closed her eyes and muttered some words. The vial glowed, like the spell she’d performed to check for the Blight. But this time it glowed red and dusted her features with pink. It was far prettier than it had any right to be. 

Everything was still for the space of a heartbeat. Then a figure appeared on the stairs to the mezzanine. It moved haphazardly, as if it wasn’t accustomed to walking. 

_ Celeste. _

Solana's heart kicked. She tried again to stand, and failed. "No! Celeste!"  

The mage meandered down a few more stairs, pausing beside Nathaniel. An icy cold pooled in Solana's gut.

“Take his knife, Celeste,” Fiona instructed. 

She pulled the dagger free from Nathaniel’s stone hand. 

“Now, I’d like you to drag it very slowly across your throat,” Fiona said. 

“No!” Solana shouted. "Stop!"

Celeste didn’t listen. Her hand moved up to her throat.

“Stop, Celeste,” Fiona ordered calmly. 

The blade paused, just against her skin. Solana would have expected Celeste’s eyes to be staring straight ahead like the thralls she’d seen in the cages, but they darted around in clear panic. Celeste was perfectly aware of everything that was happening. 

“Put on the collar, Solana. Help the mages,” Fiona said calmly. 

Samson rushed down the stairs at Fiona, waving his lyrium sword. “You let go of her!” 

Fiona cast at him, but he dodged the attack with the honed reflexes of a Templar. He flung himself at Fiona’s barrier, knocking her into the phylacteries. A number of them fell and smashed on the ground. 

“Celeste! Cut your throat!” Fiona yelled. 

Samson immediately backed away. “No! No, don’t!” He dropped the sword at Fiona’s feet and held up his hands.

“Celeste stop!” 

Now Celeste did stare straight ahead. She hadn’t sliced her throat, but blood dripped down the knife. She’d punctured her skin. 

“Well, Solana? What shall it be?” Fiona asked. “I will count to three while you decide. One.”

Solana searched around for some other solution. If she was in the collar she couldn’t help anyone. 

“Two.”

If she was in the collar there was no chance she’d manage to unfreeze Nathaniel in time. There was no chance of surviving this. She didn’t want to die. She wanted to see Cullen again, and Alise. 

“Three! Celeste-”

Solana dived forward for the collar. If she put on the collar, Celeste would live. She pulled it to her neck, clicked it into place. 

Immediately she felt the effects. What little mana she had was gone. She was empty. 

“Good,” Fiona said. “Very good. Now Samson, I’d like you to get into one of those cages. You volunteered, did you not?” 

“Yeah,” he said. He began moving for the stairs like he was the one being mind controlled.

“You can’t break a compulsion!” Solana shouted after him. He paused. “It’s blood magic. You can’t break it.” 

“I know.” He had been a Templar in one of the circles most notorious for maleficarum. Of course he knew. He looked at Fiona over his shoulder. “But if I do as you say, you’ll treat her right? You’re not gonna make her hurt herself, or anyone else, right?” 

Fiona inclined her head. He started to mount the stairs again. 

The knife dropped at his feet. It clattered against the stair and then bounced once, twice. Celeste had dropped it. Solana didn’t know how, but somehow she was no longer holding it. 

“You,” Celeste said. “Shouldn’t.” 

Fiona backed away, stumbling into one of the phylactery shelves. 

“Make. A. Mal-ef-i-car. Cut.”

The blood running down Celeste’s neck floated upwards.

“But how?” Fiona asked. 

There was no answer. Celeste closed her eyes and a pulse of magic burst from her. It was so bright that Solana had to shield her eyes. It blew her hair back and she heard breaking glass. When she could see again, she saw furniture lifting into the air - bookcases, desks, the shattered remains of cages. They hovered like they were no more than a tray of biscuits. Then they started to spin.

“No one controls me!” Celeste shouted. Furniture crashed down. “I will not be used!”

The Wardens left their prisoners and rushed for the exits but Celeste slammed the doors shut. Oghren ran to Anders’s unconscious form and threw his body over him. The furniture lifted again and slammed down again. The wild magical wind she’d summoned blew over the remaining shelves, whipped paper and books up into a storm. Fiona tried to cast something at her, but it bounced against a barrier and, with a flick of her hand, Celeste knocked over the phylactery shelves. Fiona shrieked as one of them fell on her. Celeste flung her head back. The blood continued to flow from her wound.

This wasn’t sustainable. She was going to drain herself!

Solana tried to get Samson’s attention, but her voice melted into wind roaring above them. He needed to stop her, stop her before she killed herself. She needed something to throw at him or…

The coin. Cullen’s lucky coin. Solana reached beneath her robes and tossed it. It knocked against his armour and at first it seemed like he hadn’t noticed. Then he glanced at her. She pulled the vial of lyrium from her pocket. Understanding dawned on his face. 

She threw it. Her aim was off but he dived for it and managed to catch it. 

Celeste’s power was lifting bodies now, pulling them into the raging storm. Oghren’s legs were in the air, but he clung to Anders and remained tethered. Wardens and mages tried to keep hold of each other to stay anchored. 

Samson downed the blue liquid, snatched his sword from the ground and pushed his way up the stairs. When he reached the upper level, he used his sword like a stave and had to hold on to the wall to stay on his feet. He gritted his teeth against the wind. It was so strong that it was pulling the skin on his face back, but he pushed forward relentlessly, one foot in front of the other. He mounted the stairs to Celeste agonisingly slowly. 

Too slowly. Solana’s throat was starting to close up. She wheezed, choked. 

_ Second stage of the poison, not long now.  _

Samson reached Celeste’s barrier, but even he couldn’t get through. He closed his eyes, lifted the sword and whispered something. For a horrifying moment, Solana thought he was going to strike Celeste. But a bright white ring sparkled into being beneath his feet. It spread outwards from where he stood, encompassing Celeste. Shards of light floated upward from that ring and the wind stopped. Everything that had been suspended in the air crashed down. People scattered out of the way. 

Celeste collapsed into Samson’s arms. She reached out weakly and touched Nathaniel’s ankle. The stone melted from his skin. For a moment, he stood stunned, staring at the wreckage around them. Then his eyes fell on Velanna and he plunged down the stairs, flying to her side, not even seeing Solana. 

“The antidote,” Velanna insisted, pushing him away.

“Of course!” Nathaniel dropped down beside Solana and lifted her head. He held a small bottle to her mouth and she drank. This concoction was even fouler than the lyrium had been. It tasted like copper and felt like a slug as it slid down her throat, but she was able to breathe again. 

“I suppose this makes it nine?” Nathaniel said. 

Around them people were slowly climbing to their feet. Solana heard whispers of “the Hero of Ferelden.” She knew they were looking for an authority figure, for someone who could tell them where to go from here. 

“Go be Warden Commander,” she told Nathaniel. “This place is a mess.”

She closed her eyes and let the antidote work through her. 


	41. In our peace

“Are you sure you want to stay?” Solana asked Anders. 

He nodded and glanced at the table where Oghren, Cullen, Carver and Nathaniel were engaged in a game of diamondback. The little cottage was drenched in warm evening light that made the nasty bruise over Anders’s eye look bright purple. “I think this is a good place for us. We can do good things.”

He’d been referring to himself as “we” more often since they’d returned from the keep, but Solana hadn’t mentioned it. She took it as a sign that he and Justice were starting to work together, finally, in a place where they could both find acceptance. 

It wasn’t like there was a shortage of work to do here. Nathaniel was set on cleaning up the keep and running it as a Warden base until the Orlesian Wardens arrived. Which could be some time, since they were still picking themselves up after that business at Adamant and many had left for the Anderfels. He’d found Raoul in one of the dungeons and had sent him back to Camille with  _ orders _ to marry her. Thirty years may not be forever, but it was a long time. Long enough, maybe, for someone to find a viable cure. 

The rest of the Wardens were given a choice. They could be locked in the dungeon or they could fall in line. Solana wasn’t sure of the details of the disciplinary measures, but she believed they would be fair. As for the mages, many of them would be returning to Skyhold. Some, mostly those who had helped Fiona, asked to rather be allowed to take the Joining. Those who had been on the receiving end of Fiona’s experiments, who were damaged or broken, would find proper care from the Chantry in Val Royeaux. Solana had already written to them and explained the situation.

There had been casualties and Fiona had been among them, crushed by the very phylacteries she had stolen. Solana had tried everything to resuscitate her, to no avail. Now her ashes were scattered over a pile of stones, besides the others, deep in the middle of an Orlesian forest. Perhaps one day, many years from now, travellers would stumble upon their small graveyard and wonder what had happened. Perhaps they might even remember her name. Would they remember her for her role as First Enchanter, for instigating the mage rebellion? Or for this - the dark epilogue?

“Hawke will be pleased you’re happy,” Celeste said, jolting Solana from her thoughts. 

Celeste had been in the kitchen cooking dinner. She was still a little weak from blood loss, but she’d insisted on being useful. 

Anders’s expression darkened at her words. “I hope he can forgive me.”

“He already has. He told me to tell you so.”

“He did?” Anders didn’t sound too overjoyed at the notion. 

Behind them Oghren cheered and Cullen swore. Everyone around the table laughed. 

“I spoke to him right before I left Skyhold. He was worried about you. He thought Solana would try to kill you.”

“I see.” Anders frowned. “Perhaps I should go back. Perhaps I owe it to him-”

“No,” Celeste cut in a little too quickly. “He understands. It’s best you both move on. He only wanted you to know that he still cares about what happens to you, and that he forgives you.” 

At that, Anders did smile. “Well, you can tell him we’ll keep an eye on his baby brother. And he has friends in the Wardens, if ever he needs them.”

Cullen pushed his chair back and raised his hands in surrender. “I’m out.” 

“Don’t tell me you lost what was left of our coin?” Solana teased. 

“I’ll join if there’s space.” Anders took Cullen’s chair and Cullen came to stand beside Solana. 

“I didn’t lose  _ all _ of it,” he assured her, sheepishly. 

The front door opened and Samson came in, carrying an armful of chopped wood. “Where do I put these?” 

“Here, I’ll show you.” Celeste disappeared back into the kitchen and Samson followed.

Solana shook her head as she stared after them. “Who would have thought?” 

Cullen smirked.

“What?” 

“Well, I saw it happen. I’m not sure she realised it before I told her.” 

“Oh? Commander Rutherford, you just keep surprising me.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her close. “Long may it continue,” he said as he nuzzled against her ear. 

 

* * *

 

Celeste woke with a start. The fire had burned low and the kitchen was awash with the dim blue light of early dawn. Like glowstones. 

Raleigh threw an arm over her. “It’s alright,” he said sleepily against her back. “You’re safe.” 

She turned in his arms and pressed herself close. Despite his warmth, her insides still felt cold. “Should I be? What I did-”

“You saved everyone.” He kissed her forehead

“I killed people too.” She’d been there again, in her dream. She was careful to keep her voice low so as not to wake Nathaniel and Velanna who shared a bedroll on the other side of the room. “I killed Fiona. If you hadn’t stopped me-”

“Shh. You’re the hero of the day, you hear? You saved me, you saved Solana, you saved yourself and all of those twisted monstrosities the enchanter was keeping hidden, not to mention the Wardens and mages she still had a mind to torture.”

Celeste said nothing. His words couldn’t chase away the darkness she felt. She could hear Oghren snoring from the main room and wondered vaguely how Carver and Anders were managing to sleep. 

“You know what the difference is between a hero and a villain?” Raleigh asked. He didn’t wait for her answer. “Difference is, you feel bad. You think Fiona felt bad? No. She thought the lives she took were  _ necessary _ . And when I was with Corypheus, the lives I took were necessary too. I know that mindset. It’s not you. You care and that’s good. That’s what makes the difference.”

She wanted to believe him. “I don’t ever wish to do that again,” she whispered. “I could feel the demons, Raleigh. I could feel them pressing against the Veil. They wanted me. They wanted my power.”

“Hey, it’s alright. I’m here.” He held her in his arms, in a safe cocoon, and somehow she managed to fall asleep again.

 

* * *

 

Cullen massaged his temple and stared at the small collection of vials reflecting the dawn. 

“Headache?” Solana asked, draping a blanket across his shoulders. 

He pulled the cloth around him gratefully, without taking his eyes from the vials. “No.” Headaches had been plaguing him regularly, but this wasn’t one. 

“You’re uncertain?” 

“Oh, I’m certain. I’m just wondering how I’ll phrase this in my report. I don’t imagine Queen Anora’s response will be positive.”

Solana laid the final vials out around the others on the tree stump. In a pile like this, they looked more like kindling for a bonfire than the last of all Ferelden’s phylacteries. 

They’d packed them up to take back to Skyhold the previous day, but Cullen had shaken Solana awake as the moons were sinking, after hours of gut-twisting doubt. 

They were too dangerous.

And they were wrong. 

He kept remembering that awful collar around Solana’s neck. These were no different. They were leashes that at best brought mages under Chantry control, at worst put them in danger. And they bred fear. Fear that lead to the massacre at Kinloch Hold, fear he had breathed every day in Kirkwall, fear that had driven Fiona to these lengths. 

He didn’t know what the solution was, but it certainly wasn’t this. 

Solana turned to him and offered a smile. “Well, you’ll tell her it was an accident. The supply cart overturned.”

He shook his head. “I’ll tell her they were all destroyed at the keep.” 

“You’ve thought this through.” 

“I have.” 

She came forward and took his hands in hers. She was so warm. But then, he’d been permanently cold since the dungeon. 

“We’ll find a safe solution for the mages,” Solana said, staring up into his face. “They’re going to need somewhere to learn about their powers, to be protected from those who hate magic on principle. We’ll find a way.”

He cupped her cheek. He believed her, because she was Solana and she could accomplish anything she set her mind to, but also because he saw now what he had somehow never managed to see at Skyhold. They both wanted the same thing; to protect people, to keep them safe. And it was time he let go of his own fear and stood at her side rather than in her way. 

She turned and held up a hand. A rune formed in the air, blazing bright as fire. He had to squint as she pulled her arm back and let the energy fly from her wrist. It hit the pile of phylacteries with a crash. Glass and blood flew into the air before them and tinkled down to the forest floor. 

 

* * *

 

Arriving back at Skyhold was not what Samson had expected.

He’d enjoyed every moment of the journey back, treasuring the time with Celeste in the idyllic forest and the comradery of those travelling with them. He’d even managed to teach Cullen some card tricks. 

But when they finally rode up to Skyhold’s gates, he expected something similar to the morning he’d carried Celeste up from that cave: a bunch of guards he wanted to punch in the face dragging him off to the dungeon. 

Instead, an honour guard rode out to greet the party and they arrived in the courtyard to  _ cheers _ . He knew Cullen or Solana must have written ahead to explain everything to the spymistress, but he hadn’t expected anything like this. There were even _ Chantry _ sisters among those singing their praises. 

The Seeker came down the stairs from the upper bailey as they arrived and made a speech congratulating them on halting an evil plot. She called Celeste up to receive some special Inquisition pin. Celeste clutched his hand and he thought he’d have to go up there with her, but then Ren came running down from the training area and stood beside the Seeker, and Celeste had to go up there because she had to greet her son. Receiving high honours while doing so was just incidental. 

When the crowds started to disperse, he spotted Rylen talking to Cullen. His cowardice told him to run. 

But he didn’t want to be that man. Not anymore.  

They didn’t appear to notice him at first. Samson caught some words of their conversation. Something about platforms and drunkenness? Then Rylen turned and flashed him a smile. “Welcome back.”

“I, eh…”  _ Get it together, arsehole.  _ “Supposing I should be seeing myself downstairs then?” He tilted his head to the door to the dungeons. “I don want no ceremony, if that’s alright?” 

Rylen looked at him blankly and he felt suddenly hot. This was humiliating. 

“I hear you’re quite the hero,” Rylen said. 

Samson scratched at his ear. “Is that what Rutherford said in his report?”

“Solana, actually,” Cullen corrected him. “She sent word back to the Inquisition. She’s far better at that sort of thing than I.”

Samson didn’t know what to say. He’d never have expected the Hero to be complimentary. Perhaps Celeste had put her up to it. 

“I hear that you were kidnapped by Fiona’s mages and taken to Orlais where she intended to continue carrying out experiments on you?”

“Uh…” 

But Rylen must  _ know _ that wasn’t true. Samson had asked him for leave. 

“It must have been quite the ordeal,” Cullen said. His mouth twitched. 

He  _ knew _ too. They were toying with him. But to what end?

Cullen cleared his throat. “Josephine will be relieved. She had to convince a lot of nobles that we knew what we were doing when we brought you up from the dungeon. I would never hear the end of it if she had to tell them all we were wrong.”

Rylen nodded gravely. “It would be a difficult thing indeed, considering how many have already withdrawn their support now the breach is closed.”

“Look.” Samson shook his head. “I’m not any good with this cryptic shite. Speak plainly.”  _ Please.  _

Cullen sighed. “The Inquisition’s official line is that the Red Lyrium was responsible for much of what you did under Corypheus. It would be something of an embarrassment to admit you ran off, and that you managed to escape our grasp so easily. Besides, I owe you a debt. Solana told me how much lyrium you took. I... I’m not certain how you walked out of there. But you did. You saved everyone in that room. Including my wife.”

There was nothing like the lyrium rush; the lightning in your veins, the way the world exploded into colours and on the other side of those colours lay madness but you didn’t  _ care _ because you could see and feel  _ everything _ . Too much sent you flying through the colours, turned your sparking veins to mush, pulled you into a deep empty darkness that there was no escaping from. Apparently. It had never happened to Samson.

“What, do you figure it means that I’m resistant?” he asked aloud. 

Cullen’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know, but whatever it is perhaps one day we can use it to help the Templars.” He seemed to realise how his words sounded, given the context of the last few weeks, because he shifted uncomfortably and scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, perhaps one day, if you’re willing, you can investigate and-”

Samson held up a hand to quieten him. “Yeah, maybe. I like the sound of helping.”

“Ser Samson!” 

Samson looked up, following the sound of his name. Ren stood on the stairs above them, waving wildly. His heart swelled. And there was Celeste, behind him. The light caught her hair as it whipped in the wind and she looked a vision, but for the frown on her lips. Concern. For him. 

Was that why she’d clutched his hand so tightly? Because she knew as well as he did that he was destined for the dungeon? 

But somehow, miraculously, he wasn’t. If he understood what Cullen and Rylen had said, they weren’t going to be separated by bars. Perhaps, they may even have a future together. He was paralysed by the intensity of his feelings. His chest felt like it may burst.

“I’ve been trying to keep up his training,” Rylen was saying. “But I fear I haven’t had much-”

Samson didn’t hear the rest of Rylen’s words. He made for the stairs.

 

* * *

 

It was quite something to watch how Samson took the young boy into his arms and how Celeste threw her own arms around him and kissed him fiercely. They looked every bit the family, as unlikely a family as Cullen could imagine. 

He had known this Raleigh Samson once. When they’d first met, when they’d shared a room, Samson had been thoughtful and kind. He’d never complained when Cullen had jerked awake from some nightmare and more than once had brought him tea laced with a calming potion. He had tried to get Cullen to talk about what had happened, but it had been too raw. Cullen hadn’t wanted his kindness, hadn’t felt he deserved it. He’d pushed him away. Perhaps he could have done more when Samson had been ejected from the Order. At Hawke’s request, Cullen had once asked Meredith to consider pardoning him. She’d refused and he’d left it at that. 

After the Kirkwall streets, after Corypheus, he’d never imagined he’d see this Samson again. Yet here he was, in many ways the same templar who had offered Cullen his friendship all those years ago. It was difficult to put aside everything the man had done in between, but perhaps it was worth trying. 

“As I was saying about your quarters…” Rylen said, bringing Cullen’s attention back to him. 

Before Samson approached them, Rylen had been trying to explain that his quarters were under renovation, that the expansions Cullen had requested were now underway. No doubt, it was Leliana’s doing. A way of rubbing in that she’d been right to trick him and Solana into travelling together. 

_ Well, she had been.  _

“You said  _ Berinole _ had been given the go ahead? The roofer?”

“Erm, yes.”

Cullen’s heart beat a little faster. “Tell me he hasn’t destroyed the entire room? I fixed that room for Solana.” It had taken weeks. “And the pictures of her family, they’re all she has-”

“Oh, I think what was there before is safe. It’s just… well…”

“Perhaps it’s best that I see?”

“Oh no, I don’t think so.”

_ Was it really that bad? _   “I insist.”

 

* * *

 

Solana made straight for the guest quarters, not even pausing to listen to the Seeker’s speeches. She could hear Alise as she approached, but it wasn’t crying. It was a range of enthusiastic baby noises she usually made when playing outside.

She felt a foolish stab of jealousy as she approached the door, that Alise could make those noises for someone else, that Alise was happy with someone else while her mother had longed for her. But none of those feelings were reasonable. It was good that Alise was happy.

Solana paused with her hand on the door handle. What if Alise didn’t want to leave this Orlesian nurse? She was so highly recommended that she must have been an amazing carer, far more qualified than Solana. 

Would Alise even recognise her? 

She held her breath and rapped on the door.

“Enter!” the Orlesian called from within. 

The room was warm with sunlight. Dust motes danced in the beams streaming through the windows. The nurse was kneeling on the carpet beside Alise, who was on her back, kicking out her feet and waving her hands at an array of small fabric birds that the nurse was dangling over her head.  

She’d grown. It brought a lump to Solana’s throat seeing how much she’d missed in the short time she’d been away. 

“Oh! Madam!” The nurse climbed to her feet and gave a little curtsy. “You have returned.”

Solana hovered awkwardly in the doorway. “Yes, a few minutes ago. She… she seems well.”

“Oh, she is well. She struggled a little with the teething but now she is all smiles.”

Teething? “She has teeth?” 

The nurse bent to scoop Alise up. “A tooth, yes. Come  _ mon petit chou _ , let us show mother your tooth.” 

Solana tensed as her baby’s gaze fell on her for the first time in weeks. Alise blinked and Solana’s heart sank. 

_ I was away too long. She doesn’t even know me. _

Then Alise thrust out her arms and squealed. Her mouth opened in a wide grin, showing her perfect little white tooth poking up from the bottom gum.

The nurse laughed as she passed her over. “Oh, yes. You missed your mummy, didn’t you?” 

“I’m so sorry,” Solana said as she hugged Alise to her chest. “I shouldn’t have left you. I never want to leave you again.”

She was still cuddling Alise some time later when Cullen stuck his head around the door. Alise flapped her arms in excitement at Cullen’s entrance too, and Solana saw the look of happy surprise on his face. He greeted them both with a kiss.

“I have some, uh, well, interesting news, I suppose,” he said. 

“Don’t tell me they’ve put Samson in the dungeon? Did they receive my letter?” 

“They did. Samson’s fine. It’s… You recall those expansions you wanted? To our quarters?”

She nodded and tried to read his expression.

“There’s no easy way to say this. The roofer was given the go ahead and I think he was given full sanction to do as he pleased.”

“As he pleased?” That did not sound good.

“Yes. Instead of extending along the battlements as I suggested, he’s gone and built a wooden platform - no,  _ platforms _ \- hanging out over the edge of the castle. And he’s connected them with staircases so instead of an extra room we have three additional rooms, all of which are suspended with no fortifications-”

“We’re not at war anymore, Cullen.”

His neck was red with suppressed rage. “Well, not at the moment. But I’m certain it isn’t safe. It doesn’t look safe. He assured me it only looked that way because it wasn’t finished yet.” 

“When does he think he’ll be finished?”

Cullen threw up his arms. “Who can say? I’m sorry Solana. This is not what I requested from the Inquisitor. And Rylen is sleeping above my office. I do not mean to impose but do you think I could-”

“Of course.” They hadn’t discussed their sleeping arrangements when they returned to Skyhold, but they’d been sharing a tent the entire way home. She’d assumed it obvious. “You must stay here with Alise and I while the work completes.”

He offered a relieved smile. 

She took his hand. “And after, wherever we end up sleeping, I would hope to remain at your side.” 

“Truly, I was hoping... But I didn’t want to assume.”

“I’m your wife, Cullen.”

“And I’m your husband.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still a few little things left to resolve... like where the tf is the Inquisitor? :D


	42. What will become

Solana was already awake feeding Alise when the first horn sounded, but Cullen shot upright in bed. “Are we under attack?” 

Another horn followed. Cullen narrowed his sleepy eyes. “Two horns. It must be serious. Wait here.”

He scrambled from beneath the covers and tugged on his breeches. He had one arm in his shirt when the trumpeting started. Four, maybe more, instruments. The sound rose in an ecstatic brassy wave.

Cullen froze. “What in the Void?” 

It was coming from somewhere within Skyhold, or possibly from the courtyard, and it was drawing nearer. 

Then drums joined the strange ensemble. Now it sounded less like an attack and more like a… procession. 

Solana lifted Alise to her shoulder and closed her gown. This, she wanted to see. 

Weak sunlight splashed across the side of Skyhold and into the herb garden where the procession seemed to be arriving. Alongside those marching with instruments were people carrying vases of bright yellow flowers. They were laying them in rows, filling up the herb garden.

Cullen peered down at this commotion with a small frown. He seemed just as confused as Solana felt. 

Hawke’s door slammed open and he rushed out, practically skidding to a halt when he saw the flowers. 

“What’s going on?” A man followed him out of the room, still pulling on his own shirt.

Solana didn’t recognise him, but Cullen cleared his throat. “Eh, Good morning Knight-Captain.” 

The man was tanned, but he went almost as white as his shirt. “Cullen. I, eh.” He looked to Hawke, then his gaze went to Solana. “This must be your lovely wife? Solana is it?”  _ Smooth. _

He stuck out a hand, showing more confidence than she would have expected from a man half undressed. 

This probably wasn’t the best time for introductions, but Solana accepted it. “If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say you must be Rylen?”

“You would be correct.” He chuckled nervously. “Any idea what all this is about?” 

Cullen shook his head. “No. Although I’m yet to see a threat bring flowers.”

“That’s because you never knew Knight-Commander Murray. He was particularly fond of bluebells.”

It sounded like a story Solana wanted to hear more of, but at that point the music swelled. 

Cassandra marched into the garden below them, down a narrow path through the yellow flowers. “What is the meaning of this!”

The music halted and the sudden silence made Solana’s ears ring. Around them all the other guests had come out of their rooms. Crowds had gathered around the garden below. At least half the Inquisition must have been here now. Hawke stood tensed, his fingers white around his staff. He was clearly accustomed to the unexpected turning out to be disastrous. 

“I demand to know what is going on!” Cassandra shouted.

Another figure moved onto the path between the flowers. His armour shone, and he carried a helmet under his arm. Solana couldn’t see who he was, but Cassandra clearly recognised him because she gasped and her hands flew to her mouth. 

“A last ditch attempt, that is what is going on,” he said. 

It was Max. 

The Inquisitor bowed at the waist. “I know your mind is made up. And when your mind is made up, it’s a foolish endeavour to try change it. But I had to at least make the attempt. I have journeyed to Nevarra. I have spoken to your uncle. I have undergone the trials and he has granted me permission-” 

“What trials?” Cassandra interrupted. 

“It’s all right. I passed.” He sank to one knee. 

She moved two steps closer to him. “What trials?”

“Well, the single-handed slaying of a dragon to prove myself worthy of the Pentaghast line.” 

“There is no such trial!”

“Your uncle said-”

Cassandra pulled him to his feet. “My uncle is a fool. He likely wanted to see how far he could make the Inquisitor go, so he’d have a good story to tell his fat friends. And you are foolish too for attempting such a thing. You might have died! If you had asked me, I could have told you. Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been about you!”

“I told you I was going to the Frostback Basin-”

“But I didn’t hear from  _ you _ . You could have been dead.” She threw her arms around him. “Only you would be idiotic enough to take on a dragon single-handedly.”

He held her tightly, then drew away. “Is that more or less idiotic than this?” 

Once again, he sank to one knee. He set down his helmet and reached into a pouch on his belt. Cassandra seemed to realise what was happening at the moment just before he held up the ring. 

“Max…”

He took her hand. “Cassandra. You have fought at my side for many long months, when at times we all thought the fight was hopeless. I have grown to consider you a close friend, I have grown to care for you more than I imagined possible. You always believed in me. I believe in  _ us _ . Let us start a new chapter together. Remain at my side, Cassandra. Become my wife and I will pledge myself to the cause of your happiness.”

“You  _ know  _ that I can not.” 

“You can tell them no.”

She yanked her hand free and shook her head. It looked like she was about to say something else but then she turned and ran, stumbling over pots of yellow flowers and scattering bright petals as she fled.

“Well, that was awkward,” Hawke said. 

Solana met Cullen’s eyes, knowing they both understood why Cassandra couldn’t accept. “You should go speak to her.”

“Me? No I… I don’t even know what I’d say.”

“She’s your friend.”

“Well yes, but-”

“Go talk to her. I’m going to go see Leliana.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Go away!” Cassandra brought her blade down on the shoulder of the training dummy so hard that she cut well into it. Hay leaked out, but she was undeterred and took another swipe. “Leave me be!”

Cullen was surprised there weren’t more onlookers, but perhaps she’d chased them away while he’d been getting dressed. Or perhaps they knew to give the Seeker a wide berth. 

He paused in his approach. Perhaps they had been wise. “I- eh. If it’s a sparring partner you require, I could organise you someone who’d defend themselves. Raleigh Samson might be available.” 

“Very funny.” Cassandra shoved her sword into the ground and dropped her head into her hands. “I’d ask you to bring me the Inquisitor, but I fear I may actually kill him.”

“He fought a dragon single-handedly. I’m certain he’d survive.”

“You saw that all, then?” she peeked up at him. 

Cullen nodded. “I assume the flowers had some significance?”

“Yes. He was  _ trying _ to be romantic. He knows they are my favourites. I should have realised when I first saw them.”

She paced away from Cullen, running her fingers through her hair. “Why would he do something so foolish? In front of everyone? He knows that I cannot be his wife. He’s known that from the start. We had  _ rules _ . An  _ agreement _ . This was never meant to be anything serious. When did he start to imagine it might go beyond the Inquisition? Does he think of me in front of a hearth? Does he think of me heavy with child? I’ve never wanted those things!”

She leaned her head and hands against the tree that shaded the area. Her shoulders moved with each deep breath she took. Cullen searched for something comforting to say, but found nothing. 

“The truth is,” she said, in a very quiet voice. “I  _ do _ want those things. Now, I find myself daydreaming. What would it be like to come home to a husband, to children? To sit around a dinner table? My memories of my childhood are fleeting. I remember no such thing from my own life. Why should I want it now? It is a ridiculous notion. I have a duty. He knows I have a duty!”

“To the Chantry?” Cullen asked without thinking. 

Her attention turned to him. “Who told you? I specifically instructed Leliana to-”

“No, it wasn’t Leliana. I overheard you talking.”

“Oh. Well, yes. I promised my life to the Chantry the day I became a Seeker. The Chantry has lost its way. I could change that. I could set it back on its path.”

“Do you wish to be Divine?”

“It doesn’t matter what I wish. It is my calling.”

“I once thought it was my calling too. I was wrong.” 

She looked at him strangely and he felt compelled to continue. 

“Perhaps the Maker is not as absent as we’ve been told. Perhaps He has not abandoned his children after all. That I am alive at all is a testament to that. I have to believe that He is guiding me. Though often I have been surrounded by shadow, He has led me, somehow, miraculously, through it. He lead me to Solana. Is it so inconceivable that He’s led you to his Herald?”

 

* * *

 

 

Solana paused on the stairs between the library and Leliana’s sanctum and tried to gather her thoughts. 

It had been a long time since they’d spoken personally. 

Discounting that meeting in the garden when Leliana had sent her Orlais, the last time had been in the phylactery room. Solana had been holding a vial of blood then too, but it had been _ her  _ blood. And Leliana had been keeping it around her neck, and she’d refused to confess why, but Solana thought she knew. And then Leliana had been forced to kill her.

Yet somehow, despite that, she’d worked tirelessly to make sure Solana was happy, even going so far as to set her up on a quest with Cullen. 

Solana owed her so much. It felt wrong to give her this burden. But there was no one she trusted more. She pushed on up the stairs. 

Leliana sat at her desk writing furiously with a quill. “You can set it down over there,” she said, without looking up. 

“I’d rather not.”

Leliana smiled at Solana’s voice. “My apologies, I thought you were someone else. How can I help you?”

Despite the smile, she felt formal and cold. “Can we speak somewhere private?”

“Certainly.” Leliana clapped her hands. “Leave us!”

The scouts and spies emptied out of the room without protest and shortly it was only the two of them. The room felt vast now, and far too quiet. The birds were on their perches. There was no sound from outside. Solana sat opposite Leliana and put the vial she carried in the middle of the table. 

Leliana raised an eyebrow. “Cullen informed me none of these survived.”

“It’s not a phylactery. It’s a secret.”

The spymaster lifted the vial and held it up to the light. “I’m fond of secrets.”

“Leliana, I know you turned down the position of Divine. I know they offered it to you first and when you declined they went to Cassandra.”

“How do you figure that?” 

“Cullen overheard Cassandra and Max talking… and I spoke to Celeste. You told me you were going to be Divine. You assured me you were going to protect the mages.”

“Solana, I said what I needed to say to make you agree.” She set the vial down again. “I’m sorry, but lying’s a part of my job.”

“What will happen to the mages now?”

“That is for Cassandra to decide.” 

Solana had had a long time to come to terms with that, but still the words chilled her. She clenched her fists and tried not to show how upset she was by this distant Leliana. “Why did you turn down the position?”

Leliana stood. “Do you really need to ask? The Divine is meant to be holy. You know my past. You know I am hardly holy.” 

Solana stood too. “That’s rubbish.” From what she’d heard, Justinia had hardly been holy either when she’d first joined the Chantry. “I know you had a vision. In that Chantry in Loth-”

“A child’s fantasy!”

Solana snatched her arm. “No. A terrible darkness. An ungodly noise. You stood on a peak and watched as the darkness consumed everything-”

Leliana shook herself free. “I remember it well enough. I fell and the darkness drew me in.”

“And then you found the rose bush in the garden. It had flowered.”

“That doesn’t  _ mean  _ anything.” 

“Even in the midst of the darkness, there is hope and beauty. Alistair picked the rose. Did you know that? He picked it and he gave it to me.”

It was nothing now, ten years later, but a brown and crinkled thing she’d kept at the bottom of a pouch. But she withdrew it and she thrust it at Leliana. “It was never supposed to be about me. It was about you. You are the rose.” Solana took her hand and pressed the remains of the rose into her palm. “Thedas is in darkness.  _ You _ can lead us out.”

Leliana stared at her. “You were the rose. You were always the rose, blooming in the darkness.”

Solana shook her head, and she held Leliana’s hand. “You need to be Divine. You need to accept. Cassandra’s a general, she’s blunt and pragmatic. She won’t last a day in Val Royeaux. And when she fails, that mage, Madame de Fer, will be more than happy to take her place.”

Leliana smirked. “Is this about the Inquisitor’s proposal? That was quite the show, wasn’t it?”

Solana swallowed. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t also felt for Max. But Cassandra’s refusal was merely confirmation of Solana’s fears. She dropped Leliana’s hand and picked up the vial. “It’s about this.”

“Ah, your secret. What is it?”

“Possibly? A cure for possession.” 

Leliana narrowed her eyes. “This is Fiona’s work?” 

Solana nodded. “She hurt a lot of people to get to this point. I didn’t approve of her methods but… the theory, Leliana. If it’s true that there’s a way for mages to avoid being possessed that doesn’t involve Tranquility, or the side effects of the Warden joining? It’s worth exploring. But I can trust no one else with this. I can trust no one else to find a way to investigate it without more people getting hurt.”

Leliana barked a hollow laugh. “That you should even say that means you know nothing of me.” 

“Leliana…”

“You have no idea what I’ve done in the years since we’ve travelled together, do you? Do you even know what being the Divine’s Left Hand entails? All the lies, all the death, and yet you still managed to fool me. You and Fiona and the others, running experiments on prisoners right beneath my nose! I am the last person who should be Divine. I am the last person you should trust.” 

“You cannot know everything-”

“It’s my  _ job _ to know everything!”

“Maybe it isn’t! Maybe it’s your job to accept the position appointed to you, to serve the Maker as you intended when you joined the Chantry in Lothering-”

“I intended to _ hide. _ ” 

“No. You found something else there. I know you did. I remember.”

“You’ve been gone a long time.”  
  
“Well I’m back now.”

“And you’ve changed.”

This was hopeless. Perhaps Leliana was too far gone. Frustration burned Solana’s throat. 

Leliana turned away. “I thought I was fulfilling His purpose for me. Working with the Divine, helping people. But it was all for nothing. I am not chosen, I am lost just like everyone else. Cassandra burns with purpose still. She believes, she never doubts. She brought the Inquisition together-”

“Yet you never told her about the phylacteries.”

“An error on my part, perhaps.”

There was nothing more to say. Solana tucked the vial into her pocket and made for the stairs.

“Wait!” 

She turned, hope stirring in her chest. 

Leliana nodded to the pocket where she’d tucked the vial. “I’d like to have a look at that, if I may. Perhaps I can still help the mages.”

Solana passed it to her without protest, but she couldn’t resist saying, “You  _ know  _ how best you can help the mages.” 

* * *

 

 

The door was open but Hawke knocked anyways. Solana, who was dangling some fabric birds over her daughter’s head, looked up. Her face fell when she saw him. 

Well, suppose that’s what he deserved considering how they’d left things. 

“I… wanted to say goodbye.” 

She stood and swept her mane of red hair behind her ears. “You’re leaving?”

“Rylen invited me back to the Western Approach with him. I decided to accept.” He shrugged. “There isn’t much for me here anymore.”

Solana nodded, but her eyes were exploring his face as if trying to see beneath his skin. 

“What?” Was she going to ask him about Anders? 

“Thank you for coming by.” 

He wasn’t sure how to take that. Was she asking him to leave? 

“Would you like- I can make you tea if you want?” 

_ Tea? As if this wasn’t awkward enough.  _ “No. Thank you. Rylen wants to get going.”

“Of course.” Solana chewed on her lower lip. The baby gave a little squeal of impatience. 

It was tempting to just walk away while she was tending to her, but he waited for her to lift the youngster up and bounce her. 

“Solana… About what I said. In the inn that day. I was drunk.”

“It’s alright.”

“No, I was wrong. Celeste told me everything that happened, how you stood up to Fiona. You’re not like her, and you’re not like  _ him _ . If he even was your father. I should have known better.”

She smiled softly. “Thank you, Hawke.”

Silence fell between them, and again Hawke considered leaving. 

“Rylen seems nice.” 

He chuckled and ducked his chin, trying not to recall their  _ interesting  _ introduction. 

“I am  _ very _ nice,” the familiar lilting voice said behind him. It made Hawke’s heart leap. Rylen’s hand came to rest on the small of Hawke’s back and it was all he could do not to lean into the touch. “You should visit us in the Approach some time so I can show you. As Hawke’s family member I feel the necessity to impress you.”

“He’s humble too,” Hawke added in a stage whisper. 

Solana beamed then. Whatever had been troubling her seemed to have washed away. “If you can convince my husband to leave his post for long enough, most certainly. “

“Aye, there’s the trouble. But the gates of Griffon Wing Keep are open to you, always.” 

 

* * *

 

The main hall was already packed by the time Cullen arrived with Cassandra in tow. She hiccoughed loudly and he was starting to regret taking her for drinks in the tavern. 

He’d meant for it to be a quiet afternoon. He’d meant to buy her an ale or two to help her drink away her sorrow. Then Varric had joined them with a deck of cards. 

Cassandra and Cullen were equally matched, which is to say neither of them were any good, and Varric won every round. Samson had arrived a little later and had been in a chipper enough mood to buy everyone drinks. Then Solana had found them, and she’d wanted to play a few rounds too while the nurse was watching Alise. People kept arriving, the drinks kept coming. It had been an enjoyable day but Cassandra definitely needed some food in her. 

Cullen helped her onto one of the benches, but no sooner had he got her seated with a plate in front of her, then someone was pulling her up again. 

“What is this? I don’t! Leliana!”

The spymistress’s hood fell back. “I need to talk to you.” 

“Now might not be bet best time,” Cullen said. “She’s had a bit to drink.” 

“Yes, I can smell that. This can’t wait.” 

Leliana pulled Cassandra across the hall by the arm and they disappeared into one of the side rooms, but not before the Seeker threw a plaintive look at Cullen. 

“What was all that about?” Solana asked, sliding in next to him. 

“I don’t know, but let us hope it doesn’t involve nobles or chantry sisters. She’s in no state for either.”

Solana rested her head on his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her, not caring about the audience. Being close to her like this was bliss.

“I’m considering asking Valenta to stay,” Solana said. “She’s so good with Alise.” 

_ The nurse. _ “It would free up your time.”

“It would. Although I’m not sure what I’d use it for. Do you think Max would take me on missions?” She pulled away a little. “ _ Safe _ ones.” 

Cullen was glad of the addendum, although he knew it was entirely for his benefit. “I’m certain he wouldn’t say no to assistance from the Hero of Ferelden.”

Solana’s fingers threaded with his. “It’s something to think about.”

The hubbub around the room quietened as Trevelyan walked up to the Inquisitor’s dais. He lifted a goblet to each table in turn and then started speaking about how glad he was to be home, and how he was proud of his people for accomplishing all they had while he was away. 

Cassandra slid into her seat beside Cullen half way through the speech, but she looked down at her plate and didn’t appear to be listening. 

“Lastly, I would like to thank the team who risked their lives to halt dangerous blood magic experimentation in the forests of Orlais. Solana, Cullen, Samson, Celeste and of course Leliana, who orchestrated everything. You have done the Inquisition proud and-”

Cassandra shot to her feet. “Yes.”

Every person in the hall fixed their attention on her. Cullen took her arm and tried to guide her down, but she pulled herself free. 

“Yes, I will marry you.” 

Trevelyan didn’t move. His eyes rested on her, but he didn’t make a sound. 

Cassandra climbed out of her seat and almost fell over it. Solana dropped her head into her hands. This was even more mortifying than that morning had been. 

“I love you,” Cassandra declared as she marched up to where Trevelyan stood. “I have no wish to be parted from you, you foolish man. Yes. I will marry you.”

Trevelyan looked as if a rift had opened right in front of him, as if he wasn’t sure Cassandra was real. 

Leliana bolted in from an adjoining room, rushed past Cassandra and whispered something in Trevelyan's ear. His eyes went larger. He turned to look at her face. She nodded. 

“I- I believe congratulations are in order,” he said to the room. “A new Divine has been chosen and our very own spymistress will be accepting the position.” 

Solana’s face lit up and she whooped. This must have been her doing. 

The rest of those gathered started to applaud and cheer but Trevelyan held up a hand to silence them. “And- I suppose I’d like to announce the engagement of one Maxwell Trevelyan and Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast.”

Cassandra ran forward, pushed Leliana out of the way and threw her arms around Trevelyan’s neck. He laughed as he held her and kissed her and the room swelled with sounds of celebration and congratulations.  

“How do you figure she’ll feel about that when she’s sober?” Samson asked, sliding into Cassandra’s place. Celeste and Ren were with him. Celeste must have just come off duty because she was still in her apron. She arranged food on a plate for Ren before sitting herself. 

Based on their conversation earlier, Cullen knew Cassandra wouldn’t regret the decision. He knew that Trevelyan would never try to keep her tied to the household. He’d encourage her to rebuild the Seekers she cared about while he ran the Inquisition and maybe one day, when that was done, they would settle somewhere together and she would have her hearth and her children and the normal life she’d always been denied.  
  
“I think she’ll be happy,” he said. He added silently as he looked around the room,  _ I think we all will.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's still a little epilogue coming on Thursday, but I just wanted to take the time now to thank everyone who's made it so far in the story, especially those of you who have left comments. I started this fic only a few months after discovering Dragon Age and I didn't imagine I'd end up writing three books' worth - that's a LOT of reading! So thank you all, from the bottom of my heart. 
> 
> I'm going to be concentrating on writing original fiction for the next little while. I have a college YA fantasy half done, and two fantasy trilogies lined up. If you'd like to keep in touch, you can find me on pretty much any social media platform as tallulahlucy :) 
> 
> Thanks again for all the support. Your kudos and comments have brightened my life immeasurably over the past year and a bit <3


	43. Epilogue: We are forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had absolutely no idea, when I wrote this scene, that I would be publishing it ON Satinalia. Happy Satinalia everyone :)

_ Satinalia, 9:44 Dragon  _

 

The streets of Val Royeaux were bright, even at night. Glowstone lamps cast vivid blue light across the cobblestones. Moths and small bugs weaved in and out of the glow, their dance mimicking the masked Satinalia revels below. 

Solana was satisfied to watch from the second storey window of her apartments. One day, Alise would probably drag her out to join the dances. But for now, she relished in the ability to observe while surrounded by the hushed silence of home. 

She heard the door behind her open, but didn't turn to look. Careful footfalls were suddenly interrupted by the pounding of four legs across the landing, the thump of a tail on the door. 

"No! Bad dog." Cullen cursed softly. "Out." 

Solana smiled despite herself. Dog loved Alise, and as a result he tried to get into the nursery at every opportunity. A glance at the cot beside her confirmed that Alise was still asleep, blonde curls framing her peaceful, doll face. The door clicked shut.

"Sorry," Cullen whispered. He wrapped his arms around her and she leaned back into his warmth. "How are you feeling?" 

"I'm fine so long as I don't move." 

He nuzzled against her neck, a hand drifting across her stomach. "At least this time we know it's not the Calling." 

He placed a mug on the sill. Steam twisted up from it, brushing condensation across the window, transforming the Orlesians below into bright blurs of colour. 

"Mint tea. Ella says it should help." 

Ella, their housekeeper, had a horde of her own children. Two of them had already married and had their own. She was a wealth of knowledge, and good with Alise. Solana was glad of the assistance. Alise was proving as strong-willed as her parents. 

Cullen watched the dancing a while in silence and when Solana turned her head slightly to look at him, the blue light was reflecting in his eyes and a crease of concern divided his brow. The hand remained on her stomach, protectively. 

"If Solas decides to attack in the next six months, I'm staying here," he said quietly. 

So that's what was bothering him. Memories of the last time she was pregnant, of returning to find she had died in childbirth. Now a new child, a new war. 

"But if he makes a move in nine months' time, I'm going after him myself," she said, with a smile so he knew she was joking. At least in part. 

His half-smile said he understood. "If you go after him, I'm taking the children to South Reach and staying there until it's all over."

"You really dislike Orlais that much?"

"Yes." He rested his chin on her shoulder. "But... we're doing good work here."

She knew he didn't just mean the covert operations involving members of what had been the Inquisition. While they were no doubt invaluable, using their home for the unofficial headquarters and passing messages between Divine Victoria and the others, Cullen meant his clinic. In just a few months, he had transformed a mansion that had belonged to some heirless lord, into a home for retired Templars and those who wished to give up lyrium. She could see how pleased he was with what he'd accomplished, although he'd never say it. 

She covered his hand with hers. "Maybe when we're done saving the world, you can establish another clinic in Denerim. I’m certain Samson would be eager to join you. Chopping wood for his brother-in-law can hardly be fulfilling. Celeste’s last letter said he wanted to take on mercenary work. Can you believe it? Of course, she refused to let him.”

Solana had last seen them at Max and Cassandra’s wedding. It had been a beautiful event, held on the Trevelyan estates in Ostwick. It had also served as a cover for the new Inquisition’s first secret meeting, so everyone had been there. It had been a relief to see Max looking so happy, despite what had happened to his arm. Celeste had had news of her own. Another child on the way, a brother or sister for Ren. Their second children would be of an age. They’d be able to play together. If they lived in Denerim, perhaps they could even grow up together.  

Cullen kissed her temple. “I do like that idea, but I question whether we'll ever be done saving the world. Besides, the White Spire would miss you."

"I can work in Ferelden." 

"In Kinloch? That's far from Denerim."

"I don't have to teach at an old Circle Tower. I could establish a school in the city."

Cullen chuckled. "You wouldn't want life to be too easy."

Solana’s mage school had so far proved successful. Younger students were encouraged to board at the tower while they learned to control their magic, but they were welcome to see their parents whenever they wished. Adult mages came and went as they pleased, although many chose to live within the tower walls, studying and refining their abilities. The new College of Enchanters seemed happy to provide funding, and although Madame de Fer hadn’t quite given up trying to start her own Circle, no one had pulled a mage from their home and forced them into one. Which was really all Solana could ask. 

She turned in Cullen’s arms and thankfully the nausea remained at bay. "What's life without challenge?" She tucked a blond lock behind his ear. 

"I'll let you know if I ever find out." He kissed her tenderly, holding her close. 

Outside, delicate flakes of snow drifted down to the square. Revelers paused in their dances to look up at the sky, or hold out their hands. A hush fell over Val Royeaux, and for a moment all was at peace. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to Sulahn (https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulahn) and TriangularRoom (http://triangularroom.com/) my amazing betas who went through this entire, gigantic, story for me to make sure that it was readable.


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